The Prodigal Daughter
by Kurt
Summary: After the Voyager's return to the Alpha Quadrant, Captain Janeway must solve a mystery surrounding Marla Gilmore of the Equinox.
1. Snatched

There were celebrations, but none for her.

_Voyager _returned to the Alpha Quadrant to great fanfare. A war-weary Federation was most grateful to hoist the _Voyager _high as a trophy not stained by war and blood and death. There were antimatter fireworks and a hero's welcome for the brave captain and the loyal crew come home at last.

Not for her, though.

The Maqui crewmen had been arrested and were still being held pending the disposition of their cases. The _Equinox _crewmen had a more straightforward case. For two months she'd been confined to the Starfleet Justice Annex, Pre-Trial Division. She'd been separated from the other four _Equinox _crewmen. She didn't know if they were together or not.

She'd been debriefed and told her story honestly. All the loss they'd seen aboard _Equinox, _all the suffering and death and humiliation. She'd obeyed the order of her captain and faked out a mutinous first officer. If she hadn't done that, _Voyager _might have been destroyed.

It wasn't like she hadn't suffered, too. She hadn't slept well for months. At the Justice Annex – a fancy name for a prison – they'd given her tranquilizers. They helped, but only so far.

Today it had all come to an end. Her defense counsel had come to her and told her that a deal had been worked out. She would be allowed to resign from Starfleet, effective immediately. The alternative was a court-martial on countless charges of murder and violations of the Prime Directive. She didn't even know how many; it had scrolled past the display of the PADD and she hadn't bothered to find out. _Marla, they'll let you walk if you resign from Starfleet immediately. You'd be a fool not to take this. _

She wasn't a fool, and she had signed. Finally, once and for all, she was outcast.

Now what?

She was a good engineer. They said that civilian shipping was starting to get back on its feet. Perhaps she could get a post on a freighter somewhere. God knew she'd done more with less on _Equinox. _If not here, maybe there was a place for her somewhere out in this wide, wide universe. The Ferengi needed engineers, she'd heard. The idea made her chuckle bitterly. Work for a greedy guy with big ears for the rest of her life. Perhaps the Klingon Empire; there were merchants as well as warriors in the Empire. But on Earth, her name would always be synonomous with disgrace.

Marla Gilmore walked out of the Starfleet Justice Annex, a civilian for the first time in years. She wore plain civilian clothing and carried a plain civilian bag. The buildings of the Academy were not far away, and she turned to look at them sadly. Once, she'd been a fresh-faced cadet, eager to learn and make her stamp on the universe as part of Starfleet. It seemed like centuries ago. Now, they wouldn't even let her in the door.

It would've been easier if all the people around her weren't discussing _Voyager _and Captain Janeway and how great and wonderful the news was. Even after two months, it was the talk of the planet. She hadn't had the chance to read up on the Dominion War, but she knew it had hit the Federation hard. It was hungry for a hero. Her own battles had left their own scars, too. But she wasn't a hero and never would be.

It was a lot better than it could have been. She knew that. She could have been sent off to a penal colony somewhere. She could have been dishonorably discharged from Starfleet, like the rest of the _Equinox _crew. Even Janeway's statement to the Board of Inquiry had allowed that she'd been remorseful and had served aboard _Voyager _honorably. When the security teams had come for the _Equinox _crew, Janeway had been there. Marla could still remember the captain's face softening a bit as they fastened the manacles. The last words the captain had ever spoken to her echoed in her ears as she left the building.

"_Good luck." _

Funny thing to wish someone you'd just filed charges on.

Marla squared her shoulders, adjusting the small duffel bag containing the few things she owned, and strode out of the Justice Annex onto the street. She was alone now. Her Starfleet days were behind her. She was Marla Gilmore, murderer of aliens, former demoted ensign, and now a civilian member of society again.

She walked down the steps and walked down to the street corner. The Justice Annex had a recreation yard for its prisoners, and she could see some of them from the street. At least she was free; that was something. Some of her former crewmates were still in there – Maqui crewmen whose service wasn't outweighed by their prior crimes. Even Commander Chakotay was still there. Starfleet might be cheering the _Voyager, _but some of its crew had to answer for its actions.

Shuffling her feet, Marla continued down the street. There was something nice in being just a member of the crowd again. It was anonymous and quiet. No one glaring at her like they had on _Voyager, _no harsh whispers behind her back. No one knew the things she'd done on the other side of the galaxy.

There was a crowd up ahead, and Marla walked slowly around it, her past and her uncertain future weighing heavily on her mind. It wasn't until she got closer that she realized the crowd was surrounding the Woman of the Hour, Starfleet's only hero without bloody hands. Captain Kathryn Janeway of the USS _Voyager. _

The redheaded captain turned to face her, and Marla saw the usual signs she'd seen. The captain's face closed up into a glacial reserve. Now, like before, was a bit of softness she hadn't expected.

"Hello, Marla," Kathryn Janeway said.

"Hello, ma'am," Marla said quietly.

"How did things go?"  
Marla shrugged. "I resigned," she said, aware that the captain was allowing her to keep a small shred of dignity by not trumpeting who she was – along with a list of her crimes -- to the crowd.

The captain nodded. "If it means anything, I asked the Board of Inquiry to show leniency in your case," she said. "I wanted them to consider everything you did in the _Equinox _incident – good and bad."

That was news. Marla had always thought the captain hated her guts, to be honest. She'd never given her reason to think anything else aboard _Voyager. _There were days she'd thought the stupidest thing she'd ever done was to free Captain Ransom from Burke's mutiny.

"Thank you," Marla said.

"What are you going to do?"

Marla shrugged again. "I don't know," she said, aware she sounded like a forlorn orphan.

The captain sighed. "Well," she said, "we had to do something. You know that."

Marla nodded.

"If I can ever be of help to you, let me know. I have to cut this short; I have to be at the Justice Annex in ten minutes. Commander Chakotay's case is before the board just as yours was."

"All right," Marla breathed. "Good to see you, Captain."

The captain smiled tightly. "Good to see you. Good luck, Marla."

Then she was gone, a crowd following her and pushing Marla away like a sea. For a moment she felt completely alone. Abandoned. Outcast. Captain Janeway would go on to be a hero; all Marla had was a bag and a statement of resignation from Starfleet.

Feeling small and saddened, Marla Gilmore walked down the street for perhaps a hundred meters more. What to do? She had a sister on Earth, but the thought of seeing her sister was, at best, troublesome. There would be a lot of explanations. A lot of memories she didn't want to revisit. Perhaps she would do better to rent a traveler's cubicle – there were plenty in the city – and get a night's sleep. She could figure out what to do with her life in the morning.

There were aircars coming down to disgorge passengers now; she could hear their air cylinders hissing. It wasn't allowed around the Annex – too much risk of people trying to free their imprisoned confederates. She squared her shoulders again and walked along, wondering what to do with herself now.

Something black in front of her made her raise her eyes. A man stood there, calm and smiling. He was average; hard to describe. A handsome face that had no really distinguishing features. His hair was reddish-blond and cut sort of short. His eyes were fiercely blue, but the world was full of blue-eyed men. He stood two meters tall, more or less. His face was open and calm, but his eyes were cool, as unknown thoughts and calculations reeled away in the back of his head.

"Are you Marla Gilmore?" he asked. His voice was just as calm as his mien, and his bright blue eyes took her measure. He seemed official, even though he had no uniform. His clothing was neat, nondescript, and civilian, much like her own.

"Yes," she husked. "Why?"

"Do it," he barked, the words clipped and professional and addressed to someone other than her. It reminded her of Janeway for some reason. Then, suddenly, there were arms grasping hers. The bag was wrenched away from her. She felt people behind her, pressing her forward and to the left, where a cargo airvan waited. Its cargo bay hung open like a hungry maw.

"Hey!" Marla said. "What the hell--,"

The inexorable arms propelled her forward, far stronger than she. A hand clamped itself over her mouth. What the hell was going on? Who the hell were these people? What did they want with her? The man stepped aside so that those behind her could force her into the cargo bay of the airvan.

All this had come out of _nowhere. _Thirty seconds ago she'd been bemoaning her fate and wondering where she was going to go now. Now she was struggling for her life. Yet she couldn't budge her tormentors; all her pulling didn't get her so much as a centimeter either way.

Adrenalin poured itself into her veins. She wrenched right and left, then tried to go forward. But the cargo bay doors were already closing. The bay itself smelled like oil and ozone. It wasn't a good smell and she flinched.

The man removed a hypospray from his belt and pressed it to her defenseless neck. Gilmore twisted one last time, knowing it was useless already. She could see Captain Janeway barely a hundred meters away. She couldn't tell if the captain had seen her. She stared imploringly forward, hoping beyond hope that her eyes could transmit her plight, that someone would see. Would the captain even care?

Black-clad arms held her. The doors closed and the cargo bay turned black. Then the hypospray blurred her vision for a second, and then _everything _went black.

The man who had stopped her thirty seconds ago nodded, pleased. The removal had gone exactly according to plan. He liked things when they ran just so. He opened the door leading into the airvan's passenger compartment and gestured. The men behind him fed Marla Gilmore's limp form into the compartment with him. He took a moment to arrange her body on the seat. Pretty girl, he thought.

The driver had already cycled up the engines, and the airvan began to lift itself into the sky. The man reached forward and took a communicator off the console. It was larger than the standard combadge, and necessarily so. No Starfleet facility would be able to track _this _communicator; its inner workings were a most guarded secret. He flipped it open, the way one did with the old-fashioned communicators. A single chirp emitted from the communicator. No voice greeted him when he did so. It wasn't necessary.

"This is Benning," he said. "Tell Kilbourne that his package has been shipped."


	2. Navigating the Bureaucracy

The crowds were nice. After all those years of the Delta Quadrant, and all those sleepless nights wondering how she was supposed to get a hundred and fifty souls home, she had to admit it – it was nice to be appreciated. She'd been Starfleet's emissary to a hundred species across the Delta Quadrant, but now, it felt like she was expected to be Starfleet's emissary to the Federation itself.

The Dominion War had hit hard. She'd been catching up on it. The price in lives and ships had been extremely heavy. But that hadn't been all of the price, she thought. Some of it had been exacted on the souls of those who survived; the veterans and civilians alike.

All the same, Captain Kathryn Janeway thought, if Starfleet wanted heroes, then why did they throw some of them in the brig? Some of her crew had been former Maquis. She knew that. But they'd served for seven years with honor. Didn't that earn a pardon? But no, they had to face justice for crimes they'd committed long ago. Janeway thought it was ridiculous.

She had even suggested leniency for the _Equinox _crew. All of them had served admirably on _Voyager, _particularly Gilmore and Lessing. Slightly over a year had given her some perspective on the situation. All the same, she didn't feel _their_ prosecutions had been ridiculous at all. It nagged at her sometimes, and she wondered if she was being fair. She had her own lapses to account for during the _Equinox _affair.

Now she stood in the middle of the crowd, people thrusting out PADDS for autographs, cameras, anything to record their presence to a living legend. Not two minutes ago she had exchanged brief greetings with her haunted ex-crewman. Then, Gilmore had inspired a bit of compassion in her. She'd looked wan and lost. She'd thought simply to let the younger woman on with a kind word or two, then head to Chakotay's hearing. All she wanted to do was convince the Starfleet Board of Inquiry that Chakotay could be set at liberty during his hearing. All of the former Maquis deserved that.

They'd let Tom go. Not because he had served proudly and heroically on _Voyager, _even though he had. No, they'd let him go because the illustrious Board of Inquiry had determined that a), Thomas Paris had been lawfully transferred to Kathryn Janeway's custody aboard _Voyager, _b) Thomas Paris had not been responsible for _Voyager's _transport to the Delta Quadrant, and c) Thomas Paris's Maximum Release Date, as computed by Federation Correctional Law 226.1(c) had already been reached. Therefore he, alone among the Maquis, had been released. Also, the Board of Inquiry had determined that Captain Kathryn Janeway was, in fact, entitled to offer field commissions as permitted by Starfleet regulations, and therefore he would remain Ensign Thomas Paris of USS _Voyager _until reassigned by superior officers. She was glad for Paris, but the whole thing was nothing but ridiculous bureaucracy.

She shook her head. Here she was, on Earth. She was going to ask for Chakotay to be released. She'd seen Gilmore and tried to be nice. Then she'd meant to continue on her way to the Starfleet Justice Annex. Then...

She blinked her eyes. It looked like a group of people had hustled Marla Gilmore into a van and disappeared. There was something disorienting about it, as if a pink elephant had tapdanced across Market Street and then instantly disappeared. This was Earth, and things like that didn't happen here. Not next to the buildings housing Starfleet's _Justice Annex, _for heaven's sake. It just couldn't happen.

Had it? It was hard to tell; it had just happened so _fast. _One moment she'd caught a glimpse of the young woman meandering slowly down the street; the next it looked like she was being shoved into the van; and in the next, everything was fine again. Normality had sifted back down like a fine damask tablecloth to cover a gouged table. There was so little time. She wasn't sure if what she had seen was licit or illicit.

Janeway took a step down the street, not sure whether what she had _thought _she had seen was what she really had seen. There didn't seem to be much about it she could do anyway. The crowd was following her, waving holocameras and PADDS, all calling her name. _Captain Janeway, can I have your autograph? Captain Janeway, can I get a picture? Captain Janeway? Captain Janeway? Captain Janeway? Captain Janeway? _

"Captain Janeway?"

She recognized the voice and turned. Lieutenant Tom Paris stood nearby, resplendent in his own Starfleet uniform. Next to him, Seven of Nine stood and looked out over the crowd with imperious grace.

"Tom. Seven." She was still feeling strangely disoriented; partly from what she had just seen (_or had she?) _and partially from having a crowd follow her around everywhere she went. "What are you doing here?"

Paris shrugged. "The same as you, ma'am," he said. "We were here to testify for Chakotay. And...well, of course I want to see B'Elanna."

She cleared her throat, all too aware that the crowd would hear every word she said. "Tom, did you see Marla Gilmore just now?"

He shook his head. He, unlike most of _Voyager's _senior crew, did not scowl when her name was mentioned. Paris had always been a bit softer towards the _Equinox _crew; she supposed it came from his own past failures and redemption. His answer didn't please her. "I'm sorry, Captain. Seven and I just got off the train. I just brought her here from her aunt's."

Janeway shook her head for a moment. "She was just here," she said dazedly. "Maybe I'm going crazy, but I could've sworn I saw some people grab her and stuff her in a van." She shook her head again. "Never mind. It's probably just stress."

Seven favored Janeway with the same unconsciously haughty look she'd always used on _Voyager_.

"Captain, were you referring to the young blonde woman ninety-six point two meters south-southeast of our position? Stopped by a man approximately two meters tall, and brought into the white cargo van which took flight thirty-eight seconds later and followed bearing two-two-five to the shipyard boarding platforms?"

As it had many times before, the thought _Seven will always be Seven _warped through her mind. Janeway turned to the taller woman.

"Yes," she breathed. "You saw it too?"

"I did. Was this behavior out of the norm?"

Janeway found herself pulling up the automatic extra measure of patience that was often required with Seven.

"Of _course_ it was out of the norm," she rasped. "What did you think? Get security!"

Seven took a moment to defend herself. "Civilian social behavior on Earth has been extremely varied and challenging to grasp. On _Voyager _the crew behaved with significantly more predictability and efficiency. I have no reason to suspect that Earth civilians might _not _hurl each other in vans."

Technically, Seven was correct, an occurrence that was frustratingly familiar. She repeated her command. "I realize that, Seven. Inform the security detail at Starfleet Justice Annex. They can alert local authorities and pull their holocamera logs."

"At once, captain." Seven turned away, raised her chin high, and strode away towards the building at high speed. Janeway swallowed and checked her chronometer. She didn't have much time. The familiar feeling of division pulled at her; she was torn two different ways. She wanted to find out what had happened to her errant crewman, but she also had to testify for Chakotay, and there were only five minutes until his hearing.

"You didn't see anything, Paris?" she asked.

The younger man shook his head. "Sorry, Captain," he said. "It's just...you know...with B'elanna in _jail, _it's been sort of hard. I never would've believed they'd arrest the Maquis, after everything they've done."

Kathryn Janeway understood that far better than she would have ever admitted. They ascended the steps and entered the building. "I know. Hopefully all this nonsense will be over with soon." She saw Seven standing at the security desk speaking with the security guard on duty, who seemed to be taking a report with disinterest. That feeling of being pulled two places at once struck at her again. She took a breath. Seven could handle it. The Borg ought to be able to deal with bureaucracy, couldn't they? It occurred to her that during the voyage home, Seven had struck up a reasonably friendly working relationship with Marla Gilmore.

A large data screen in the central hallway bore the names of cases that were coming up. She scanned it for a moment. _Starfleet Board of Inquiry in re Chakotay, 0900, Room D-104. Starfleet Board of Inquiry in re Torres, 0930, Room D-104. _As she watched it, the numbers suddenly flickered and changed.

_Starfleet Board of Inquiry in r_e _Torres 1100, Room D-104 _

_Starfleet Board of Inquiry in re Chakotay 1130, Room D-106 _

She let out a frustrated groan. Tom looked over and his face twisted in anger. She knew exactly how he felt. She stormed over to a court employee and indicated the screen.

"Can you tell me why these cases have been delayed?" she asked.

The young woman tapped away on her screen. "A brief delay was requested so that Starfleet personnel would be able to testify in the cases _in re Torres _and _in re Chakotay,_" she said.

"Starfleet personnel? Like who?" Janeway tried to keep the anger out of her voice. If she antagonized the bureaucrats, they might take it out on Chakotay and Torres. The bright-eyed young PADD-pusher examined her screen.

"Actually, ma'am," she said thoughtfully, "it's because there are _many _witnesses testifying for both of them. Lieutenant Tom Paris, Ensign Harry Kim, Lieutenant Commander Tuvok--," she squinted and looked puzzled, "er, Annika Seven Ninehansen, Captain Kathryn Janeway...it looks like about forty or fifty witnesses from the _Voyager _crew will be testifying."

That mollified her, although it didn't surprise her. Her Starfleet crew had largely adapted to the Maquis in their midst without much problem. It hadn't been an issue for years. They would come to bat for their fellows.

"_I _am Captain Janeway," she informed the court employee. "Now tell me, Ensign. Why can these people _not _testify at nine hundred hours but _can _testify at eleven hundred?"

The young woman paled and swallowed. "I'm sorry, Captain Janeway," she said, and actually sounded apologetic. "I don't make the rules. I just...," she flushed and looked away.

Janeway sighed. "I realize that, Ensign."

The woman's hands scrabbled nervously over something, and a few moments later she handed Janeway an isolinear chip. "I'm very sorry, Captain," she said. "I can't do anything about the delay, but I _can _give you this."

Janeway studied the chip for a moment. "What is this?"

"Official permission to visit inmates Torres and Chakotay," the woman said, and smiled nervously. "You could see them while you wait. If you like."

Janeway sighed. "Thank you, Ensign," she said, and stalked through the crowd back to Paris. He didn't look happy either.

"Gotta love bureaucracy," he quipped, his anger contained but visible beneath his wit.

"I know. Once this is over, let's take _Voyager, _find a wormhole, and go back to the Delta Quadrant. At least there we know what we're dealing with." She indicated the chips. "We can see them, at least, if you want."

"I'm in," Tom smiled.

Seven approached and raised an eyebrow. "Security has been informed. They state they will look into it. They informed me there have been a rash of muggings and petty crime recently. Local police will likely be able to handle the matter."

"Thank you, Seven," Janeway said, and found herself hoping Marla Gilmore would be all right. But Chakotay needed her now. She got in line below the sign that read _Inmate visitors this way. No shoving or spitting. No line cutting. All visitors must be prepared for scanning and search. All packages must be declared. _

Stupid bureaucracy. It was almost as if they were out to get her.

...

Starfleet's docking facilities and shipyards floated majestically above Earth, just outside of the atmosphere. Benning always thought it was a marvelous sight. The spacedock floated over the majestic curve of the Earth like a valiant subject. Earth itself was beautiful from orbit; clouds, water, green and brown landmasses. He gazed out the shuttle's viewport at North America.

It was this he was sworn to protect. Others out there would prefer to see these spacedocks shattered and destroyed; the Earth below reduced to ash and cinders. He'd seen reports from the mirror universe, where it was so. He would never allow anything like that to happen. Whatever it took, whatever deeds were required, the Federation would endure brave and free.

He didn't know exactly how the young woman who lay stretched out in the shuttlebay's rear figured into protecting Earth and the Federation, only that she did somehow. He had his orders from above, and that was all he needed. He had an abridged version of her file. She'd been on the _Equinox. _He wasn't sure exactly what it was that she had done on the _Equinox_, but it had attracted the interest of Section 31, and when Section 31 became interested in something, it acted quickly on that interest. He knew only what he needed to know to accomplish his mission. That was fine by him; it was an accepted part of life in Section that you would only know what you needed to know to accomplish your mission. Secrecy was their watchword.

He'd seen Janeway himself, and so contingency plan #32A had been activated. Psyops had indicated there was hostility between Janeway and all of the _Equinox _crew. A few analysts believed that Janeway would not care if Gilmore disappeared. Still, the contingency plan was there. The hearings had been delayed for a few hours, and Janeway had, from the report of his operative on the surface, taken the candy she'd been offered: a chance to visit Commander Chakotay. It would distract her for long enough.

He slipped into the back of the shuttle and opened his bag. In it was a Starfleet officer's uniform, which he changed into silently. Despite himself, he glanced over at the sleeping young woman as if she might see him. It was foolish. They'd used enough of the standard incapacitating agent on her to ensure she'd sleep like a baby throughout her trip. A fleet of Klingon warships could attack the shuttle and she'd still sleep through that. There was no way the sound of his clothing rustling would wake her up.

He adjusted the pips on his collar and made sure the uniform was neat. The shuttle zipped into Spacedock and headed leisurely for the ship he sought. One of his men looked him over.

"You look good, sir."

"Thank you," Benning said, his tone even and clipped.

Inside Spacedock, thrusters only was the watchword. Many captains ignored it. Benning didn't. He didn't want anyone to notice the shuttle for any reason whatsoever. So far, things had gone well. They'd transferred from the airvan to the shuttle at a nearby cargo terminal. The holocameras on that wall of the Justice Annex had been shut down the instant Marla Gilmore had left the building, and they hadn't been turned on until he had given the signal that Gilmore was safely in custody. It would be passed off as a malfunction. No fuss, no muss.

The shuttle docked in the small, cramped shuttlebay of the _USS Grambyo, _a _Nova-_class science vessel. Like the _Equinox, _he supposed. Benning exited the shuttle and glanced around. No one was supposed to be on board, but the crew manifest indicated the captain was still aboard. That made his lips twist in annoyance. The man was not supposed to still be here.

Even so, it could be handled. He called over one of his men and explained the situation. One remained in the shuttle with Gilmore, to keep anyone from seeing her. The rest waited in the shuttlebay for his orders.

He found the captain on the bridge, looking out slowly over Spacedock. Calmly, Benning smiled and stuck out his hand.

"Captain Wright?"

"Yes," the captain answered thoughtfully.

"I'm Commander Savage. I'm in charge of the _Grambyo _refit. Pleased to meet you," Benning said. "What are you still doing aboard?"

Captain Wright shrugged. "Just...reminiscing," he said. "This is a good ship. I've had some good memories."

"I'm sure," Benning answered. "However, you're going to be taking command of a _Galaxy _class, from what I understand."

"That's true. The _Philadelphia._" Wright looked wistful. "So...what are you going to do with my ship?"

Benning smiled. "Update it," he said. "The best and latest equipment we have. Update the shield emitters. I'll take good care of your ship, Captain Wright." He cleared his throat. "I'd like to have the reclamation teams have a look at the bridge, if you don't mind."

Wright exhaled. "All right," he said. "I supposed I shouldn't have stayed on board anyway. Just...one last chance to say goodbye, I guess."

He watched Captain Wright carefully while he packed the few things he had remaining onboard. Finally, the captain stepped on the transporter pad and disappeared. Then, and only then, did Benning indicate for his men to leave the shuttlebay.

"You. Put our package in sickbay, for now. Run the EMH modifications and activate the EMH. He can babysit." he directed. He did not refer to his men by name. He usually didn't. "You. Go down to engineering and prep the warp engines for immediate departure. You. Report to the bridge and lay in a course for Starbase 129. Our rendezvous point is six light-years past that. As far as Starfleet is concerned, we're heading for Starbase 129."

He proceeded to the bridge and settled down into the captain's chair. A sudden rumble throughout the ship indicated that warp engines were online. The ship moved forward, and the agent manning Communications indicated to Spacedock Control that the _USS Grambyo _would be heading for Starbase 129 as part of its refit. He had only a skeleton crew, but that was all right. Section 31 did, after all, have proof positive that a _Nova-_class starship could be operated with a skeleton crew.

The massive doors opened, and the sister ship of the _Equinox _proceeded out into the dark majesty of space. The impulse engines ignited, and the _Grambyo _moved further away from Earth. Benning turned around and glanced back at Spacedock. He could see the mighty prow of the _Voyager, _given pride of place in the spacedock.

"Goodbye, _Voyager," _he said. "I'm borrowing a little something of yours. Hope you don't mind."

"Sir?" The agent at the helm turned.

"Nothing," Benning said. "Is the course laid in?"

"Yes, sir. ETA is two days at warp five."

"Status of the package?"

"Asleep in sickbay. EMH has been modified and functions within new parameters. Level 3 containment field is in place in sickbay. EMH will notify us if the package gets active."

"Shall I notify Mr. Kilbourne?"

Benning shook his head. "Not through Starfleet channels," he said. "We maintain strict radio silence from this point forward." He sat back in the captain's chair and grinned one last time. Things were going well so far.

"Warp five," he ordered. "Engage."

The Earth began to streak away to nothing behind him.


	3. Release

_Author's note: To Katherina-B: Tom Paris was a lieutenant, but he got busted down to Ensign in 'Thirty Days' (the water planet episode), and I don't recall that he ever got promoted back (though I may be mistaken.) _

_Anyhoo, here's something for the J/C'ers...._

"This way, Captain Janeway."

The voice of the security guard was respectful. She had to give him that. He'd given her another small bonus. Instead of visiting Chakotay in the crowded visiting room, she would get to see him in his cell. For a moment she wondered if that might not be embarrassing for him. She'd have to see.

"I put a chair out there for you," the guard said. "It'll all be fine, Captain."

He led her down the cellblock to the cell at the end. For a moment, she took a breath. Here he was, Chakotay, one of the noblest men she had ever known. Here he was, in a prison with thieves and murderers. Anger flashed through her for a moment and she choked it down.

The guard made a gesture and smiled a nervous smile of hero worship. "I'll be down the hall. You'll have privacy, Captain. Just...just let me know when you're done."

Janeway nodded and forced a smile. "Thank you, Mr.--," she craned to see if he wore a nametag.

"Yarneb," he said. "Guard Fred Yarneb."

"Mr. Yarneb. I'll speak with him now. I appreciate "

"Of course," he said, and flitted back to the guard station.

Captain Janeway proceeded down to the last cell and sat on the offered chair. The cell it faced was small, no larger than the cells in the brig on _Voyager. _Chakotay sat on his bunk, flipping through a magazine. He wore a blue uniform that hung baggily. The light overhead was harsh, casting down on the artificial interior of the cell. He looked very pale in it, and she wondered if he had been allowed to be outside in the sun.

He smiled. "Kathryn," he said. "I'm glad you've come."

She smiled back. There had always been a closeness between them; as captain and first officer he had functioned as her right hand so well. Despite the rumors, they'd never had more than a strong friendship. They knew their duties.

"We have a hard problem with bureaucracy in Starfleet," she observed. "I had to run the paper-pushing gantlet just to get here."

Chakotay chuckled. "That's part of the reason I left Starfleet the first time," he said. "Rules for the sake of rules. And this place is worse. I had a psychologist in here the other day, from Starfleet Judge-Advocate Division, busy trying to pry my head open with his blunt little tools."

She shook her head slowly. "I can't believe they put you here, after everything you've done," she breathed.

He shrugged. "It's partially me," he said. "I know others are out. They took a plea deal. I want my day in court It's principle."

She leaned forward. It took nothing at all to understand _why _he would want it that way. All the same, perhaps he ought to consider a deal. It depended on what the terms were. "_Have_ they offered you a deal?" she asked.

He nodded. "Plead guilty to one count of assisting a terrorist organization, and my time on _Voyager _would be considered in my sentence. That's a five-year sentence, so I'd be out of jail immediately."

She leaned forward. "Chakotay," she said, "that's a great deal. You should take it."

He shook his head. The tattoo seemed very dark against his skin in this depressing fluorescent light. His voice was calm, deep, and utterly implacable. "No, Kathryn. I won't stand up in court and say I'm a terrorist, even if they say I'm a 'reformed' terrorist made good. I won't do that. I want people to know what I did, and _why _I did it. I want them to know about the people they left behind on Trebus and other planets. I want everyone to know I was defending my people. My father's people. They had no one to stand up for them against Cardassian oppression. If after all that they say I'm a terrorist...so be it."

She said nothing for a moment. Trying to convince him to take a deal that involved the word _guilty _when he didn't feel he was guilty of anything would be like trying to move mountains with her bare hands. "No one's saying you're a terrorist," she hedged. "I...I don't want to see you spending the rest of your life in prison. A lot of people want you out. They've let guilty people out. Why not you?"

He shrugged. "You mean Gilmore? I knew she was released today. Good for her, but I hate losing an operative."

Janeway's eyebrow rose. "Operative?"

He nodded. "I have people in here I'm concerned about," he explained. "Some of them were in the women's section – B'Elanna, Mariah. Marla Gilmore's cell butted right up against the men's section in the next cellblock." He grinned. "One of my people – I won't say who – is in the cell there. They could yell to each other through the wall, even if they couldn't see each other. So while she was here, I could at least check up on the women."

"You have a _spy network_ in this prison?" she choked. Somehow, she could see it. Only Chakotay could have a spy network up and running in two months of confinement.

"It's not a _spy _network," he said. "I just want to make sure my people are all right. Same as I would on _Voyager_. They look to me, and I feel responsible to look after them as best I can."

That reminded her of what she'd seen. "She may not be all right," she admitted.

Chakotay leaned forward. "Really? Why?"

Janeway briefed him on what she had seen.

"That's terrible," he said. "I hope she's all right." He essayed a shrug. "If Starfleet ever lets me out of here, I'll see what I can do."

She leaned forward and wished she could take his hand through the forcefield. He was remarkably selfless sometimes. Sometimes _too_ selfless. "Chakotay, she isn't your problem right now."

He let out a sigh. "I know," he said. "I've got enough of my own, don't I?"

She moved as close as she dared to the forcefield. "I'm going to try to get you out of here," she said. "I'm going to ask that you be released into my custody aboard _Voyager_. Just like I did with Tom, when I was chasing you."

He nodded and chuckled. "Thank you, Kathryn," he said calmly. _"Voyager _makes a preferable prison to this." For a moment he looked away. "Know what I miss, for some odd reason? Food. The food here is terrible. I'dgive anything for some mushroom soup. Maybe a nice glass of wine." He smiled and shook his head.

"I'll see what I can do," Janeway said, and felt a pang. Imprisoning this man wasn't ridiculous bureaucracy. Imprisoning this man – who had risked his life for _Voyager's _crew on so many occasions, who in so many ways epitomized Starfleet's best principles – was _wrong. _

But what proved to be right was much better. When he was finally brought to court for his hearing, the area designated for witnesses was filled to capacity with Starfleet uniforms. Virtually the entire crew of _Voyager _had come down to testify for their first officer. Janeway felt her anger over the matter dissipate at the sight of all those red and yellow and teal uniforms, crowding the forty-seat witness area far beyond its capacity. Some sat, others stood. One by one they took the stand, testifying that Chakotay had been a fair and concerned commander and that no justice was served by keeping him in pretrial confinement.

Finally, it came her turn to testify. She strode to the witness chair, her head held high, every inch a starship captain. When they swore her in, she swore, and then sat down with imperious dignity in the chair. The members of the Board of Inquiry sat at a curved table facing her. The chairman – Commodore Bass, a decent, fair man to her knowledge – leaned forward.

"Captain Janeway," he said calmly, "this board has heard extensive testimony from your crew that Mr. Chakotay is not a flight risk nor a danger to the public. What might you have to say for Mr. Chakotay?"

A deep breath through her nose was necessary to calm her. She took a moment to compose her thoughts. Her first idea was to blurt out how utterly insane this was, but that would not help Chakotay.

"I agree wholeheartedly with my crew that _Commander _Chakotay is not a flight risk or a danger to the public," she began. "During our time in the Delta Quadrant, Commander Chakotay had the conn numerous times. If he had wanted to commandeer the ship, he had ample opportunity to do so. Instead, he became my trusted right hand....the best first officer I have ever had." Should she say more? No; better to stick to what the bureaucrats wanted to hear. "Commander Chakotay knows his duties well. He's carried them out to the letter. If he has a duty to this Board, I can assure you that he will see it through to the letter and spirit. I would say the same for Lieutenant Torres; she was chief engineer aboard _Voyager. _She, too, had ample opportunity to seize the ship or otherwise hand it over to the Maquis. She never did. I had faith in her, and that faith was overwhelmingly deserved. Both of them served with honor and respect. In fact, _all _of the Maquis aboard my ship served with honor and respect. They deserve better than this."

He nodded. "Very well. This matter has already taken a lot more time than we expected. If there are no objections, I'd like to address a question to Mr. Chakotay."

At the defense table, Chakotay nodded. "Of course, Commodore."

"Mr. Chakotay, it's obvious that the _Voyager _crew and command staff has great faith in you. It is my recommendation that you be remanded to the custody of Captain Janeway aboard the _Voyager. _If _Voyager _leaves Earth for any reason, you would be required to notify this board of your whereabouts through Starfleet Command. House arrest, if you will. If you give me your word that you will comply with these directions, I will order your release."

Chakotay pondered and touched the tattoo on his temple for a moment. Janeway watched him, a smile breaking over her features. His voice was quiet yet powerful in that way he had. He rarely yelled; he never had to. Not equipped with that understated but very powerful baritone. "That's a generous offer, Commodore. If you're asking me if I plan to flee into the Badlands, the answer is no. If you're asking me if I'll hurt anyone while I'm out, the answer is no. If you're asking if I'll show up faithfully for hearings, the answer is yes."

"Very well," the commodore said.

"Excuse me. I wasn't finished. I appreciate that offer, and I'll accept it on one condition. I want _all _of the Maquis imprisoned with me to receive the same offer. They served on _Voyager _just like I did, and they deserve the same consideration. If they don't, then I'll go back to my cell with them."

The commodore paused and considered for a moment. "I see. Captain Janeway, are you willing to take responsibility for _all _of the Maquis that were formerly under your command?"

All eyes were on her. The answer was instant, without a moment's thought. "Of _course, _Commodore."

"So ordered. The Maquis prisoners are hereby released to Captain Janeway's custody until further notice. For now, this Board stands in recess. Captain Janeway, I'd like to see you outside."

The room emptied swiftly. The Maquis seemed jubilant, and Janeway could hardly blame them. Finally, someone had done the right thing. She smiled at Chakotay, knowing he would finally be freed. She waited until the commodore finally left his seat and followed him.

"You wanted to see me, Commodore?"

He nodded. "Well, there's a reason we released the Maquis to your custody. Have you been caught up on Starfleet's current situation?"

Janeway thought for a moment. "I realize the war took a lot out of the fleet, but--,"

He nodded and seemed tense. His lips pressed together in a thin line. "Right now, Starfleet's public image is...not good. We won the war, but many people feel we crossed the line. Enrollments in Starfleet Academy are down thirty percent from previously. We'll have to lower our academic standards if this continues. There are those on the Federation Council who aren't happy with Starfleet. That's where you come in."

"I don't see what I can do," Janeway said. "Really, all I did was bring my crew home."

He nodded. "And right now the media has made heroes of you. What we want you to do is to conduct...a tour, I guess you could say. Travel around the Federation. Show off what you learned in the Delta Quadrant. Make presentations. A media blitz, you could say. It would help shore up Starfleet's standing in the eyes of Joe Federation Citizen."

"I see," Janeway said archly for a moment.

"So long as you report in occasionally with Starfleet Command, Chakotay and your Maquis will be fine," he assured her, and smiled to allay her concerns. "Off the record, we'll probably be willing to offer extremely lenient terms. You _are _heroes, after all."

Janeway nodded. "All right. When would we leave?"

The commodore smiled. "0800 tomorrow morning," he said. "Enough time for your crew to have a last goodbye to their families. But this will be an easy duty, Captain."

"I appreciate that," Janeway said. "This crew deserves an easy duty. By the way, Commodore, I was wondering about one of my former crewmembers. We'd made a complaint to security."

The commodore nodded slowly. "Ah, yes. Marla Gilmore." He shrugged. "As far as I know, the issue was handed over to local authorities. It's their issue."

"At the least," Janeway said, "there should be holorecordings from the Annex's cameras."

The commodore made a moue of distaste. "Captain Janeway, your report says that it happened on the street, not on Starfleet property. Ms. Gilmore is no longer a Starfleet officer. It's not Starfleet's problem. If I do hear anything, though, I'll see that it's passed along."

An unsettling feeling tweaked her gut. Yes, technically, he was correct. And she could understand why it was a Starfleet officer might view Marla Gilmore with distaste. All the same...something wasn't right.

"I'm sorry, Captain," Bass said. "I do have to be going. Good luck on your tour." He nodded a polite good-bye, then slipped into another room. She slowed down and pressed her teeth to her bottom lip for a moment, wondering why she felt uneasy.

A hand fell on her shoulder and she startled, whirling to confront whoever was behind her.

Chakotay's eyes widened. "Kathryn! I didn't mean to scare you."

She smiled and flushed, abashed. "Oh, sorry, Chakotay."

"I don't know about you, but I'm beaming back to the ship, now that I can," he said. "Care to join me for dinner?"

She smiled. "You're on."

He tilted his head. His dark eyes studied her for a moment. "Are you all right? You seem edgy."

Kathryn Janeway looked around the Starfleet Justice Annex for a moment. She couldn't put her finger on what was troubling her, but that didn't mean it wasn't there. This was a building of the same fleet she served, the people here wore the same uniform and served that same fleet, but...something was wrong. Perhaps it was her own displaced anger over Starfleet's love of bureaucracy...but maybe it wasn't. She studied her first officer carefully for a moment.

"I'll tell you later," she said. "When we're back on the ship."


	4. Awakenings

_Voyager _was ready to depart.

Shuttles had been flitting around the mighty ship like bees serving their queen, but one by one they left to go on to other tasks. The ship had been resupplied, its engines retuned, even its atmosphere emptied and refilled. For the first time since its return from the Delta Quadrant two months earlier, _Voyager_ would be leaving Earth's spacedock.

The crew was still boarding. Some of them had not returned to the ship the night before. Captain Janeway had, and so she had a small term of quiet before the ship's entire complement returned.

She arose from her bed and stretched languidly, studying her window. Of course, in spacedock all she had to see was a curved metal wall and shuttles flickering back and forth. She checked her chronometer. It was 0630. Good, she'd have time for breakfast.

She dressed and arranged her hair carefully. The results pleased her: every bit a starship captain. She straightened her uniform shirt and prepared to leave her quarters.

Her door chime sounded. She turned her head.

"Come," she said shortly.

The door _wsshed _open to reveal Chakotay, standing tall in his uniform. She smiled.

"Morning," he said calmly.

"Good morning," she replied crisply. "Good to be back?"

"Very," he answered. "It's a lot more comfortable here. Up for breakfast, Kathryn?"

"Of course."

They proceeded to the officer's mess. At this early hour, it was empty. For a moment, she found herself missing Neelix. Had they ever found a way to communicate with him? So far as she knew, he was back in the Delta Quadrant, on the Talaxian asteroid.

She got eggs and coffee, just the way she liked it. The replicator here had been programmed to her preferences. She stared into its black depths for a moment and drank deeply.

"So," Chakotay said. "Just what sort of detail is this? From the orders I saw it looks like we just smile and wave at adoring crowds." He dove into his own breakfast like a starving man.

Janeway pulled a tight smile. "That's basically it. We're going to Vulcan first, to spend two weeks holding seminars for the Vulcan Science Academy. Then we're off to Alpha Centauri." She snorted. "If I'd wanted to smile and wave at crowds, I'd have signed up for the Miss Federation pageant."

Chakotay chuckled. "People need heroes, Kathryn," he said. "I guess we're it. Heard anything on Gilmore?"

Janeway shook her head. "That's part of what's been bothering me," she said slowly. A long pull at her coffee gave her time to focus her thoughts. "No one seems to really care. I know what she did, and I can understand why Starfleet might not be happy with her. But still...I didn't bring this crew seventy thousand light-years to come back to a Federation where someone can disappear so easily and no one seems to care enough to do anything. Sometimes this just doesn't seem like home anymore."

He nodded. He didn't need to speak; she knew he understood. Principle was Chakotay's watchword; he stuck to his own principles with quiet fervor. He'd joined, left, and rejoined Starfleet over them.

"Something will happen," he said calmly. "Is there anything you need me to do before we leave?"

Janeway pondered. "Double-check our inventory. Make sure all our Delta Quadrant toys are onboard." She paused. "Put Seven on it. She'll be...efficient."

They both chuckled.

After breakfast, they proceeded to the bridge. It was pleasant enough to watch the ship slowly come to life as the crew returned. Some came via shuttle; some transported. Paris and Kim reported to their stations with pleasant greetings. For a moment she wondered how Paris and Torres were supposed to do their jobs with an infant. Then again, she supposed, it wasn't like this was a particularly hard duty.

At 0745, she gestured to Kim. "Open a shipwide channel," she directed.

_Bleep-palurp. _"Shipwide channel open, Captain," Kim said a moment later.

She rose from her chair and put her hands behind her back in the position she'd learned at the Academy. For a moment she strove for words.

"Attention, crew of _USS Voyager," _she said. "This is the captain. As you know, we've been ordered to conduct a...tour of the planets of the Federation. We're going to share what we learned and discuss life in the Delta Quadrant."

She cleared her throat. "This trip will be substantially shorter than our previous trip. I realize many of you had hoped to spend more time with your families, and I appreciate your sacrifice. Communication privileges will be liberal on this trip; you'll have ample opportunity to speak with your loved ones. We'd like to make up for the last time." She could feel the crew smile at that one.

"This _is _an important mission," she said, and fought to keep from biting her lip. It was hard to tell the crew that when she had her sneaking doubts herself. "We've returned to a Federation that has been battered by war. A war that we weren't part of. We need to help remind people of what Starfleet was meant to do. I am confident that this crew can do that. Janeway out."

She settled back in her chair and gestured at Paris. "Mr. Paris, take us out."

The sight of the spacedock doors opening to reveal the majestic blackness of space was something she still appreciated. _Voyager _ventured forth into space, on its own, no longer needing the umbilicals and assistance of spacedock. They were in control of their own destinies.

"Set a course for Vulcan," Janeway said, and wished she was going somewhere new. "Warp 6."

Paris's hands flew over his console. "Course laid in, Captain."

Janeway sighed. "Engage," she said shortly. _Voyager's _warp engines fired, and the mighty ship engaged.

...

The world came trickling back to her. At first, it was very slow. Her mind was slow and logy. First, came sensations. Her stomach stabbed at her. It seemed to take quite a long time to determine if her stomach was exhibiting signs of pain or hunger. It was not a pleasant sensation and she wished it would go away.

Then there were other sensations. The world around her shook a few times. Dimly, she could feel her body being jostled. There was something soft under her. There was something hard and unpleasant being pressed against her side. For some reason, her body didn't want to obey her mind's commands to roll away from it. Someone was doing something near her, but didn't talk. She could hear the faint sounds of metal clicking and computers beeping.

Finally, her eyes slid open, sticky and slow. One eyelid was gummed shut and she raised a numb hand to rub at it. Marla Gilmore opened her eyes to a world of darkness. Everything around her was dark. There were red and white flashing things in the dark, like miniature lighthouses. Red surrounded the white. Dully, she realized that the white things were words, but the screens were too far away for her to make them out.

She was on a biobed; she could feel the rounded pillow under her neck. But for some reason, the biobed wasn't making the usual beeps and hums that it usually did. She rolled over then and felt something dig into her side. Her face screwed up and she let out a groan.

In the darkness, a balding man in a teal-shouldered uniform turned around and observed her calmly. He nodded once and touched her neck with a hypospray. For some reason, that brought fear and she flinched. The EMH – she recognized it now – made a face, as if she was being unreasonable.

"Ensign Gilmore," he said, and smiled coolly. "You're finally awake. Please remain still, for now." His voice was the same faintly prissy voice of all Mark 1 EMH's.

Her thoughts still came slowly. Ensign? She'd been politely shown the door from Starfleet. Yet reaching up with her fingers indicated the same Starfleet uniform she'd worn for years now. Something hard and round under her fingers had to be the one single pip she'd had before she was demoted to crewman aboard _Voyager. _She slid her finger into her collar and was rewarded by a sudden flash of pain as the back of the pin stabbed her finger. A faint whimper escaped her, but no more.

Her mouth was dry and her tongue felt scaly. She worked her jaw for a moment and stared groggily at the EMH.

"Wha...wha' hoppen?" she managed through lips and tongue that seemed far too thick.

"You've been asleep for a while," the EMH told her. "The only way I had to treat your injuries was via an induced coma."

"Coma?" She groped for a moment as to what a coma was, and then she had it. "Am I...all right?"

"You should be. We'll explain everything. Let me notify the captain that you're awake." He tapped his combadge. Blearily she watched him, wondering why an EMH would even _need _to tap a combadge. It was all holographic anyway. Maybe he was just programmed to mimic them. "EMH to Ransom."

_That _jolted her. She sat up and looked around her. The captain's voice spoke from the EMH's combadge, tinny and weak. "Ransom here."

"I've brought Ensign Gilmore out of her coma. She's awake, but seems a bit confused."

"On my way."

The sickbay was small, dark, and cramped. Screens flickered and rolled. Dirt and debris crunched under the EMH's feet as he walked over to her.

"Please relax, Ensign. You're not going to feel right for a day or so. Rudy wants to speak to you."

Marla stared at her grubby, battered surroundings in sheer befuddlement. "This isn't right," she rasped.

"I'm sorry?" The EMH smiled at her tolerantly.

"This can't be...I...this isn't...," she trailed off. A sick sense of dread and doom and foreboding sank into her gut like poisonous metal. Was she dead? Was this her own personal hell?

A shadowy figure appeared in the doorway to sickbay and paused a moment before entering. Her eyes were adjusting to the dark environment, and they played over the man in the sickbay.

"Marla," the figure said, and seemed happy. Rudy Ransom leaned forward and held her by the upper arms, gently. "Thank heaven. We thought we'd lost you. You've been comatose for a few months. When that goddamn torpedo made it through the shields...oh, you don't know how great it is to see you awake. Noah's been sitting with you for weeks...we were so worried."

He folded her against him in a warm embrace. Marla simply let him, somewhere between the loginess of her sleep and the bizarre unreality of her situation. This couldn't be.She had been on _Voyager _and then back to Earth.

Hadn't she?

Her disbelieving eyes skittered over the craggy features of Captain Rudy Ransom. Her mouth hung open in open shock. This could not be. It just...it could not be. The words marched across the surface of her brain. Could. Not. Be. Could. Not. Be. But no matter how much her mind repeated those last three words, her senses kept telling her the same old thing: that it _was. _

"Rudy?" she asked, and her voice shook.

"Yes. I'm here," he said, mistaking her bafflement for a desire for reassurance.

"This...this c-c-can't be," Marla stammered. "If you're Rudy...then this...,"

He smiled and held her against him again like a proud father welcoming back his wayward daughter. She could feel the rough material of his uniform against her cheek. His voice was choked with emotion. "This is _Equinox, _Marla. You're home."


	5. Briefings

They hadn't even been on Vulcan for an entire day, and already it was as boring as eating a plateful of sawdust. Kathryn Janeway wanted to be out, among the stars, exploring. She wanted to be on the cutting edge. She wanted to defend the Federation against its enemies. She did _not _want to be the guest of honor at a seminar entitled "Nonsentient Small Herbivorous Fauna of the Delta Quadrant."

But even the captain didn't always get what she wanted.

The Vulcans seemed to be interested in the subject matter. She understood its importance, but the Vulcans could make just about any subject painfully boring when they wanted to discuss it to death, and they wanted to do so now. She wondered if Tuvok was enjoying himself. Certainly he'd never _admit _to enjoying himself, but he might be.

Her combadge chirped. "Hansen to Captain Janeway." The voice was female.

For a moment she blinked, unsure. "Er...go ahead," she said.

"I require the senior command crew on the ship. It is a matter of extreme importance." Now she had it. It was Seven. Why was she using her human name now? It didn't matter. It _did _get her out of of discussing poisonous toads indigenous to Kazon planets, so she'd take what she could get. "On my way," she said.

Graciously she smiled. "I am _terribly _sorry for the interruption," she said to her Vulcan hosts. "I have a matter I must attend to. I'll be back as soon as I possibly can." Then, as quickly as she could, she escaped into the hallway and beamed back to _Voyager. _

Seven was waiting for her in the transporter room, standing with her hands behind her back.

"Captain," she said simply.

"You're using your human name now," Janeway observed.

Seven raised an eyebrow. "I am. Psychologists at Starfleet Medical recommended that I do so in order to further integrate into human society." Her voice trembled a bit. "It has been confusing. But that is not why I summoned you."

Janeway nodded slowly. "All right," she said. "Let's wait until everyone is here."

It did not take long for the rest of the command crew to arrive. Most of them seemed happy to be out of their respective conferences. They assembled in the briefing room. Seven stood, faced them, and seemed troubled.

"All right, Seven," Janeway said. "What's so important that you brought us here?"

Seven's eyes moved from crewmember to crewmember. After a moment, she spoke.

"The Ankari summoning device is no longer on _Voyager." _

Janeway leaned forward. "Well, where is it?" she said. "Some of our artifacts from the Delta Quadrant were removed from the ship to be examined by Starfleet experts. Maybe it didn't get back on the ship in time."

Seven shook her head. "No," she said. "There were articles removed from the ship. Each one was logged and eventually returned before our departure from Earth. There are a few items that are the subject of legitimate study, but their locations are known and logged. The Ankari summoning device was simply taken and removed from the roster so that we would not easily detect it." She seemed annoyed, and Janeway recalled having given her the job of making sure everything was onboard. "Sometime between our arrival from the Delta Quadrant and our departure yesterday, the device was stolen."

Janeway thought for a moment. Marla Gilmore had been kidnapped. She had seen it and so had Seven. Now the Ankari summoning device was missing. She didn't like where this was going.

"There is more," Seven said, and turned to the comm screen. "Computer, display the service record of Marla Gilmore."

The computer beeped and obediently displayed Marla Gilmore's picture. Next to that was her name, rank of crewman, and dates of service. A note under that indicated she had resigned from Starfleet.

That was all.

Janeway leaned forward. A frown creased her features. "That's not right," she said. "Computer, display further information on Crewman Gilmore."

_Blooooop-palurp. _"Unable to comply."

"Why?" Janeway snapped.

"The requested records are classified."

Janeway knew sketchily what was in Gilmore's file. There was a lengthy explanation of the entire _Equinox _incident. Gilmore had made a voluntary confession of her role in it. There were standard crew fitness reports from Torres, who had liked Gilmore. There was the security report a year after she had come on board, when Janeway had removed her security restrictions. Gilmore had asked to see her a few times; had she put that in her file? It was hard to remember.

"Unclassify them," Janeway ordered. "Authorization Janeway, one alpha four."

_Blooooop-palurp. _"Unable to comply."

She leaned forward then, wishing the computer could be intimidated. She could see the others begin to exchange looks. "I am the _captain _of this ship," she hissed through her teeth. "Unclassify those records."

_Blooooop-palurp. _"Unable to--,"

"Yes, we've established that," Janeway said. "Who classified the records?"

_Blooooop-palurp. _"Unable to identify classifier of records."

"I have investigated further," Seven said archly. "The records of all other crewmen aboard the _Equinox _have been similarly locked out. Most references to the _Equinox _have been locked out. We no longer have access to the schematics of their enhanced warp device, any reference to the Ankari, their summoning device, or the nucleogenic life forms. All that remains is that _Voyager _discovered another starship in the Delta Quadrant which was later destroyed."

Fury coursed through Janeway's veins. She leaned forward, her eyes narrowing. "Who did this?" she asked, trying to keep her voice under control.

Seven seemed uncomfortable. "I...do not know."

Tuvok raised an eyebrow. "Captain, if I may. If someone has the ability to access _Voyager _ in Earth Spacedockswithout leaving a record, and kidnap Marla Gilmore outside of Starfleet's Justice Annex, it is prudent to assume they may have sufficient capability to monitor us now. We should not reveal our suspicions to authorities immediately. Our own investigation should be clandestine."

"So what _can _we find?" Janeway asked testily. Her eyes flashed.

Chakotay pondered for a moment before speaking. "If these two events are connected – and it sure looks like they are – someone wants to recreate the enhanced warp device aboard the _Equinox. _There are a variety of people it _could _be. Romulans, Klingons, Cardassians, Breen – a lot of races might be interested in having a look at it."

Janeway nodded. "Tuvok, begin investigating...as quietly as you can. Tell me what you need. For now, no one is to discuss this matter with anyone outside of this room unless you clear it with myself or Tuvok. Carry on as normal. Dismissed."

The crew filed out, but Chakotay stayed behind. He eyed her solemnly. Chakotay nodded solemnly. "I can tell by that look in your eye," he said calmly. "You're angry."

Janeway's lips twisted. "They kidnap my crewman. They steal from my ship. They lock me out of my own files. You're goddam right, I'm angry." Her eyes met his and she wondered if he was thinking of _Equinox, _and how she'd told him then she was angry

It wouldn't come to that this time. At least she hoped so.

The X_5573 _was a small ship, designed for stealth and operational security. It could tail starships for weeks at a time. Its hull was plated in black microcoating that made it hard to see. If that didn't work, a cloaking device of Romulan origin, improved by Section 31's engineers, could hide it.

It hung in space next to the _USS Grambyo. _The Nova-class ship had been battered and beaten with precisely measured brutality. Benning didn't understand it. Oh, he understood _what _they were doing, but not _why _they were doing it. On the other hand, everything would be explained to him if he needed to know. That was life in Section.

Benning knew approximately where they were: beyond Federation space, in the small pocket containing Trill and Bajor. Beyond them lay the Cardassian Union. For now, it was perfect space for Section 31; Cardassia was too busy licking its wounds to pay attention to the Bajorans, let alone worry about a single beat-up science vessel. They wouldn't see the _X5573. _

By now, the ship had been rebadged as the _USS Epinoxa, _and it would be easy enough to etch that back to _Equinox. _Benning didn't think it was necessary -- what, was Gilmore going to put on a spacesuit and go crawling over the ship's hull? But his superiors were thorough, if nothing else. He still thought this whole rigmarole was elaborate, but Kilbourne had his reasons.

He entered the readyroom and waited a moment for his boss to acknowledge him. Kilbourne was the agent in charge here. He turned around when Benning came in.

Kilbourne didn't look like much. He was an older man. Benning thought he might be fifty or so. He didn't know Kilbourne's first name, and wasn't sure if Kilbourne knew his. He wasn't particularly tall and had nondescript features. He was the sort of man who might resemble an Academy instructor, or a schoolteacher, or a neighbor – someone who played a small part in your life a long time ago. He was a gray man, just a face in the crowd with unknown thoughts grinding away behind his unassuming brow. He had been in Section 31 for years.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" Benning asked.

Kilbourne nodded. "Sit down, please." His voice was soft and pleasant. Benning didn't ever remember seeing him angry. He didn't think he wanted to. From what he knew of Kilbourne – which wasn't much – he had been part of some of Section 31's most controversial projects.

Benning sat down. Kilbourne looked at him calmly for a moment. "You've done good work with Gilmore and the ship," he said. "Are you sure _Voyager _won't be able to access their files on Gilmore or the _Equinox _incident?"

Benning nodded slowly. "I did the work myself, sir. Those files can only be decrypted by Section 31."

"Did you read them?"

"I read what I was given."

Kilbourne tapped the screen and displayed a view of the battered _Grambyo. "_Then you know about the the enhanced warp device Marla Gilmore created. If we're lucky, _Voyager _didn't study it too hard. Fortunately, Janeway got it wrong. Read the transcripts. It's funny in a way." He pushed a PADD across the desk, and Benning craned his neck to look at it. Kilbourne' voice was reflective and thoughtful. "Janeway read Ransom's experiment wrong and didn't realize it. She thought his warp enhancements only gave him point oh three percent increase. Five minutes later he told her that _Equinox _traveled ten thousand light-years in less than two weeks." Kilbourne chuckled and shook his head. "She was so wrapped up in righteous fury she didn't realize her mistake, I guess. Fortunately, we did."

He gestured at the ramshackle starship that his engineers had meticulously and brutally damaged to mimic its lost sister ship. Conveniently, _Voyager's _scans of _Equinox _had provided them exactly what they needed.

"Ten thousand light years in less than two weeks. At speeds like that, we can deploy a ship from Earth to Romulus or Qo'nos in _minutes _instead of hours. We could launch from anywhere in the Federation and be in orbit around any planet we wanted before they could ever bring their defenses up. It's reliable and reproducible. It's backwards compatible with existing warp technology. Perfect for a pre-emptive strike. That's why I sent you to bring Marla Gilmore into our custody. She's the only one in the quadrant who knows how to build the damn thing. With me so far?"

Benning nodded slowly, realizing the brilliance of the plan. A burly starship bristling with torpedoes and phasers would be viewed with suspicion by any of the Federation's enemies. A small, poorly armed science vessel? No one would think anything of that...until it was on its way, which would be too late. There were plenty of ways such a vessel could be used to launch an attack – biogenic weapons, most likely. Biogenic weapons had won the Dominion War, after all. Even so, he had his doubts.

"Yes, sir. I don't see why we needed to build a fake _Equinox_, though."

Kilbourne eyed him slowly for a moment or two from his watery blue eyes. "If we held her prisoner, she'd refuse to build it," he said. "Any prisoner will refuse to cooperate; it's been proved over and over. We could break her, but that would take time. This way is easier."

"Mind scanning techniques are pretty good," Benning pointed out. "We probed Lessing, didn't we?" It was a rhetorical question; he'd found Noah Lessing in a bar in San Francisco a day before Gilmore's release. He'd done the mindscan himself.

"They do, but they leave...problems sometimes. It's not pretty. We didn't need Lessing. We need her brain untouched for right now. We can't replace it."

"Why not just lock her in a holodeck and have her build it that way?" Benning asked curiously.

Kilbourne shook his head. "It wouldn't work. She knows what the drive should look like and how it should operate. We don't. We can't simulate what we don't know. We have the field generator on the ship, so we don't need to worry about the mutagenic lifeforms attacking. Most of the crew members _are _holograms. We're projecting them from here. Three agents are aboard the ship. We surgically altered them to resemble Captain Ransom, Commander Burke, and Noah Lessing. They're in contact with us constantly, and they'll adjust their performance. The EMH on board _Grambyo _is on our side; he'll keep her doped up enough that she'll be confused. She'll believe it."

Benning nodded.

"That's not your concern, though." Kilbourne tapped the comm screen and displayed the service record of Captain Kathryn Janeway. "Psyops has some questions on Janeway. Apparently she took the _Equinox _events personally and was pretty tough on the survivors. However, she also saw when you packaged Gilmore for shipment, and she's been making noise to Starfleet."

Benning said nothing, but flushed red. "I...I'm sorry, sir."

Kilbourne shrugged. "That's what we have contingency plans for," he said mildly. "Some people in Psyops think that Janeway wouldn't shed any tears over the loss of an _Equinox _crewmember. Others think that Janeway might get troublesome anyway." He made a gesture of contempt. "Starship captains. They think they can change the universe."

Benning nodded slowly.

"I want you to keep an eye on _Voyager_," Kilbourne said reflectively. "Odds are Janeway won't do anything more than make some noise about Gilmore, but we need to be sure. Take a shuttle to the nearest starbase, and get yourself to Vulcan. If Janeway does do anything more than make noise, I want to know about it."

Benning nodded. "Of course, sir." He rose to leave.

"Mr. Benning," Kilbourne intoned softly.

"Yes, sir?"

"Good luck."


	6. The Past

She was back in her own nightmare.

She'd suffered enough; despite what Captain Janeway thought of her, Marla Gilmore possessed a fully functioning conscience. The captain had made her scorn clear. She hadn't really understood – no one who hadn't been on _Equinox _could have understood, not totally. _Voyager _had plenty of crewmen and food and weapons; _Equinox _ had none of those things. She remembered well the feeling of dread that had come over the crew whenever sensors detected another ship. Most of the time on _Equinox, _that had meant someone was going to die.

All the same, she knew what she'd done, and once she'd passed from the darkness of _Equinox _to the relative light of _Voyager, _what she'd done had torn at her. The other _Equinox _survivors could console themselves that they hadn't really had that much to do with...what had gone on. Brian had just been a security officer, like any other. The others had mostly been just regular crewmen, except for Noah. Noah had started off as a buck crewman, but Captain Ransom had made him a part of the senior bridge crew. She had no such luxury. She'd been there when they first tried to investigate the Spirits of Good Fortune. She'd been there when they realized what a source of power those aliens represented. And she'd redesigned the warp core to use the new source of fuel.

She'd cried a few times when she did it, but despair and her captain's orders had won out.

Marla sat in the broken, shattered place that served this ship as a readyroom for the senior crew. She didn't remember it as having been usable. The table was rickety; the chairs were missing casters and legs and arms. The comm unit on the wall hadn't worked in years. Everything was much as she remembered it. She'd tried desperately to make the ship a decent place to live, but most of her time was spent trying to repair the primary systems with nothing but her hands, a few tools, and never enough resources.

The door opened. Ransom, Burke, and Lessing came in. Overhead, the light guttered on and off. Rudy looked positively _yellow _in this light, and Burke...well, Burke was always going to be Burke. She'd never liked how casual he had been about it. _Spirits of Good Fortune. Yeah, good fortune for us. _Rudy might have been the man who gave the orders, but Burke had been the ship's executioner. She tried not to flinch from him.

"All right." Rudy's voice was rough but calm. "Marla, you're finally awake. It's time to bring you up to speed." He leaned forward and put a fatherly hand on her shoulder. "What...what do you remember?"

Marla put a hand on the back of her neck. Despair rained down on her like a thousand heavy rocks wrapped in foam. "I...uhhh...," she began. "God, where do I begin? We escaped from _Voyager, _but they caught up with us. Seven had locked out our enhanced warp device with codes, so we couldn't use them. They captured Lessing."

Noah smiled at that and shook his head. "I'm right here, Marl," he said softly.

Tears rose to her eyes and she fought them back down. She didn't feel right, and hadn't since she woke up. But dammit, she was a Starfleet officer and she would act like it no matter how hard it was. She swallowed the frog in her throat and valiantly forced herself to continue.

"They caught up with us, and Rudy was going to surrender the ship. Max...," she looked away from him. "Max had a mutiny. And...uh...I didn't go along with it, and five of us ended up on _Voyager _and the rest of the crew...," she felt another lump in her throat. "They died. Janeway stripped us of rank and put us to work as crewmen on her vessel...then we made it back to the Alpha Quadrant, and we got kicked out of Starfleet."

Burke chuckled out loud, and she flinched.

"Wow, Marla," he said softly. "You've got an active imagination." He snickered. "Mutiny. Boy, what do you think of me?"

"Belay that," Rudy said easily. "It wasn't her fault. Marla, we'll explain everything to you. The Borg drone was on our ship, but she didn't lock us out of the enhanced warp device." His features pinched. "In some ways, I wish she _had. _It might have been easier."

He shook his head slowly. "We got back to the ship, and we got away from _Voyager. _You stunned the Borg drone and we beamed her down to a class-M planet. Janeway had to break off pursuit in order to go get her...and when they knew they'd lost...Janeway did a terrible thing. No matter _what _we did to them, I never would've _dreamed _of doing what she did."

Marla eyed him curiously.

"What did she do?" she asked.

"She tried to assassinate you," he answered. "She...," he shook his head again as if disgusted by it. "She beamed a photon torpedo into Engineering. It was under the rubble, so you wouldn't have seen it. It was...well, let's just say Janeway doesn't have any claim to the moral high ground anymore. The photon torpedo didn't just explode; it went off two hours after we went to enhanced warp. It was an act of cold-blooded murder, nothing less." His features twisted in hate.

"You were badly hurt...you almost died. The EMH did everything he could. What he had to do, Marla, was put you into an induced coma to protect your higher brain functions. We'd gone to enhanced warp; we'd jumped about five hundred light years. It was enough to buy us some time against _Voyager_. We haven't seen them in months."

Marla put a hand to her face and felt shock puddle in her belly. Janeway had targeted her? Specifically? Trying to assassinate her? The idea was chilling.

"The doctor stimulated your brain from time to time. He had to, so that we could wake you up when the time was right. He says that one of the side effects of this would have been very vivid dreams. That's what you remember, Marla. Very vivid...very detailed..._dreams. _ But it wasn't real. And I'm glad it wasn't."

Marla looked around the desolate ship. She had never served on _Voyager. _She had never made it back to the Alpha Quadrant. None of it had been real. She'd only been on that bright, powerful ship for a few days, then scuttled back to the dark den in which she had lived for the past six years.

But it had seemed _so _real.

"Our current status has been the same for those past few months. We're hiding while we make repairs. Warp drive and enhanced warp are both down. We have impulse. We have one shuttle, and that's warp-capable. There's a planet not too far away from here. We've been getting supplies from there."

She closed her eyes. How had they been getting supplies? Hunting wildlife? Stealing? Threats? Rudy was more into stealing supplies. Find a planet, beam down, take what you want, and leave. Burke was colder. Burke would do whatever he had to do in order to get what he wanted. She didn't want to know where the food was coming from.

She'd have to get used to that now. In a dark world with few comforts, you didn't question where food came from. She'd preferred the lighter, kinder world of _Voyager, _even if she only counted as one of its lowest criminals. There were precious few luxuries on _Equinox, _and morals were a luxury that no one could afford.

She didn't _want _to give up those morals. Giving them up once had cost her a lot; her rank, and eventually her Starfleet career. It had cost her the respect of those who maintained their morals, and had cost her her own self-respect. She knew what Rudy was going to say before he said it.

"Marla, now that you're awake, we need you to fix the warp core. Everything's been pretty much blown to shreds. You'll have to fix the warp core...and you'll have to rebuild the enhanced warp device."

She shuddered, imagining the sound of those horrid aliens. There was no choice but to get used to it again. Either that, or do what more than one _Equinox _crewman had done – go into Cargo Bay 2, seal the inner doors, and expose the whole thing to vacuum. It was quick and painless, and that call could be appealing on a ship full of pain.

"I...I'll get started on the warp core," she said, and her voice sounded dry and dessicated in the smoky air of the battered vessel.

Rudy caught her qualified statement. "Marla," he said in that voice which could be gruff but very understanding and kind at the same time, "you need to be with us. Remember. Janeway's out there. She'll be hunting us. And if she finds out that she didn't finish the job on you...,"

Marla nodded slowly, unwillingly.

"We _need _that enhanced warp. We have no choice. We can't outfight _Voyager_, and we can't outrun her at normal warp. We've probably got some time, but....if we don't get that enhanced warp back online, _Voyager _will kill us."

Burke eyed her coolly for a moment. "Besides, Marla, we went to a lot of effort to keep you alive," he said. "We gave up stuff we copuldn't really afford to get medical supplies for you. It's not easy to have someone in a coma on a ship like this."

"Belay that," Rudy said. "Of _course _we would keep you alive, Marla. But we need you now. You're one of us."

Marla hung her head and felt tears sting her eyes.

"Yes, sir," she whispered.

Kathryn Janeway was not happy.

She had contacted Starfleet one last time to ask after Marla Gilmore's disappearance, even though she thought the move to be foolish. It might be a red flag to someone who was watching.

_Was _there anyone watching? The idea seemed hard to stomach. The Cardassians had a secret police. So did the Romulans. But Starfleet and the Federation was not supposed to be about such things; the midnight knock at the door and enemies of the state disappearing was not part of what she was sworn to protect.

It wasn't supposed to be like that. No one deserved to simply disappear into a van with no questions asked. It didn't matter what crimes they had committed; that wasn't what she was here to protect and defend. Starfleet's careless disinterest bothered her. And someone stealing from her ship..._that _was asking for trouble. Janeway took another pull at her coffee and wondered what she was going to do now.

The tone signaled someone at her door. "Come," she said curtly.

Tuvok entered her readyroom and strode inside. She nodded at him. "Anything to report, Mr. Tuvok?"

"There are no Starfleet records in regard to the missing Ankari device," he began. "It was simply removed from our inventory. There are no logs of people entering the ship other than standard maintenance personnel.. Likewise, I have not been successful in unlocking the records of the _Equinox _crew."

"I have attempted to track down the remaining _Equinox _crewmen. Brian Sofin and James Morrow remain in pretrial detention. I was unable to communicate directly with them. Angelo Tassoni was released. He purchased private passage to a colony planet. I am waiting for the captain of the passenger vessel to reply to my request. I believe he is on that ship, though. Noah Lessing is with his family on Earth."

Janeway nodded. "Did you talk to him?" she asked.

"Mr. Lessing was...not happy to speak with me. He informed me that as he had been dishonorably discharged from Starfleet, he was no longer the...'ship's slave'. He reminded me I possessed no command authority over him and that he would refuse to speak to _Voyager _command crew without the presence of defense counsel. He invited me to perform an obscene act with the ship's warp core and cut the connection."

Janeway shrugged. It wasn't surprising. Still, didn't the man realize that Marla Glmore had vanished? And the only Starfleet officers who even seemed to care were the _Voyager _crew?

"Do you think Tassoni or Lessing know anything?"

"I do not believe Mr. Tassoni is involved," Tuvok said. "I do not have verification of that, but it can be induced from the facts we have. The colony world he is traveling to has little strategic value and is quite isolated. Mr. Lessing I am less sure of. He was closer to Ms. Gilmore, and he might well have been somehow involved in her disappearance."

Another sip of coffee served to fortify her. "All right. Hmmm...have Tom try. Tom's a bit of the rogue; he may get some cooperation out of him."

"There are a few things that whoever locked us out of the _Equinox _files appears to have missed," Tuvok continued.

"Really?" She leaned forward. Whatever clues might be on the ship could be useful.

"Yes," Tuvok said. "The _Equinox _EMH's program is still within the secondary data core. He has not been...aware....since the _Equinox _incident, but he might be able to shed some light on the situation. We could route his program to the holodeck to ensure he is suitably confined."

"Do it," Janeway said immediately.

"I will." Tuvok looked slightly uncomfortable. "I have discovered that Marla Gilmore maintained some personal logs on _Voyager _that we are able to access."

Janeway leaned forward. "So whoever locked us out of the records missed them too?"

Tuvok nodded. "Ms. Gilmore did not employ the standard in naming or storing her logs. She did not use the ship's computer. She used a smaller, self-contained unit she salvaged from a damaged shuttlecraft. That is different but not a violation of ship's rules; it seems she had permission from Lieutenant Torres to do so. However...I am loath to have them in my report."

Janeway considered. Personal logs were not guaranteed to be private, but only the captain or security officer could access them. Starfleet's general rule of thumb was that you'd better have a very good reason for poking around someone's logs.

"Where are they now?"

"Copies are in the ship's computer, locked under my security code."

"Is there anything of use?"

Tuvok stopped for a moment. "The logs are suggestive that Ms. Gilmore's disappearance was not staged," he said slowly. "I...I do not wish to cause embarassment for other members of the crew mentioned in her entries."

All right. "Carry on your investigation, Mr. Tuvok," she said. "Keep me posted. Dismissed."

"Of course, Captain." Tuvok rose and departed smoothly.

Janeway took another contemplative pull of her coffee and pondered. She called up the simple record that was all that remained of Marla Gilmore's service on _Voyager. _

"All right," she told the picture. "Now who would've wanted to do this to you? And is there anything here I should know about?" She turned her head. "Computer, access the personal logs of Marla Gilmore. Authorization Janeway."

Entries began to scroll up her screen. She selected the last one. It was dated after _Voyager's _return to the Alpha Quadrant.

_Gilmore's personal log _

_Stardate 54974.6 _

_Well, this is it. Voyager is back in the Alpha Quadrant. This may well be my last entry. Captain Janeway has told Starfleet what we did. We've been restricted to the ship, which is nothing new. Everyone else is heroes here; but the rest of the Equinox crew and I...we're criminals. I got the charges today. _

_ I told Harry to just go on with his life. He may end up a starship captain – if he gets his promotion, which is long overdue. My future is probably going to involve a dishonorable discharge, prison time – I can't ask him to damage his career for my sake. I've done enough. I really do like him, and he's been one of the few Voyager crewmembers who hasn't treated us like hated outcasts. That hurt, because Harry was one of the few good things in my life, but I had to do it. _

Janeway realized what Tuvok had meant. She'd heard that Harry Kim had taken Marla Gilmore to Sandrine's a few times – it was a small ship, and the only thing faster than transwarp was gossip. It was something Harry would do; he was willing to offer friendship to just about anyone. Janeway thought it to his credit rather than to his detriment. And now that she thought about it, he had seemed just a bit down about something.

_ I'm scared. I'm not proud of what I did. I'd go back and fix it if I could. But I don't think anyone on Voyager really understands what it was like on Equinox. They never had to go without food for days. They suffered, sure, but not like us. _

_ Does that mean anything? Sometimes we went for days, even weeks without food. We saw our fellow crewmen slaughtered and tortured. We had a jerry-rigged EMH who mostly knew how to hand out mood elevants and painkillers like candy. Aliens who saw us mostly either took advantage of us or fired on us or both. We tried to play by Starfleet rules at first – and we paid dearly for it. Once Rudy relaxed the rules, life got...well, better. If Equinox had continued to play by Starfleet rules we'd have been dead long before we ever met up with Voyager. _

_ Captain Janeway has been hard on us. I wonder if she ever thought about the fact that the only reason she could maintain her oh-so-strict Starfleet morals is because her ship was designed for deep space travel. And she had phasers and photon torpedoes and shields and a full crew, so she could fight back. _

_I'd like to see her go through half what we did – hell, a quarter – and see if she still thinks of us as evil incarnate. _

_ I'm scared. I had orders from my captain. I followed them. I wasn't happy about it, but I followed them. That's what you're supposed to do, especially when you're on the other side of the galaxy and all you have is your captain. Captain Janeway didn't understand us. And her crew followed her example, except for rare cases like Harry and Seven. I'd be foolish to think the Federation is any different. Our names will go in the pantheon of Starfleet's worst criminals and shameful times. The mutinies on USS Pegasus and Excalibur, the war crimes of USS Harding – there's going to be a new chapter in that book entitled USS Equinox, and I'm going to be front and center in that. Not that it'll matter to me, because I'll be in a prison or a penal colony or something. _

_ We're allowed a few small privileges we didn't have before – I guess the captain figures she can throw a few crumbs to us slaves now that we're back in the Alpha Quadrant. We get some holodeck time and access to Federation news. Apparently the Federation had a war and used some sort of bioweapon to win it. I wonder if the people who did that are ever going to go on trial. I doubt it. _

_ At least I won't be on a ship where I'm hated and scorned anymore. In a prison, at least I'll be around other people who have committed crimes, so hopefully they won't judge me so harshly, each and every day. _

_That's something._

Janeway let out a sigh through her nose. This was the flipside of accessing personal logs; the 24th century equivalent of _listen not at a keyhole lest ye be vexed. _The unforgiving, judgmental captain in those logs was hardly how she saw herself. Hadn't she urged leniency for Gilmore? Hadn't she removed her security restrictions after a year? Was this just the log entry of a frightened woman who at that time had been facing the possibility of a long prison term? Didn't Gilmore realize that _Voyager's _officerswere the only ones in Starfleet that were investigating her disappearance?

She felt somewhat silly as she realized that no, Marla Gilmore probably wouldn't know that. Even so. _Had _she set an example for the crew that the _Equinox _survivors were criminals to be outcast? Was that why Lessing had refused to help? The _Equinox _crew had always been a sore point with her, for their own crimes and for her lapses.

She drummed her fingers on her desk. If she had committed some wrongs along the way, she would set them right. That was what she did. She set things right.


	7. Second Chances

She had to get to work.

Waking up had been a misery. None of what she'd experienced had been real. She'd tried to redeem herself. She'd tried to show that she was more than just a murderer. She'd tried to show that she was worthy of being a member of Starfleet. She'd accepted her punishment gracefully, and she'd given _Voyager _the best she had. She'd been wounded in the battle with the Borg a year after she came on the ship.

And it had all been for naught. Just a dream. A fantasy her mind had conjured up while she lay comatose on a ship of pain. All the things she'd seen, all the shame and remorse...none of it had been real. It had only been an illusion conjured up by the EMH they'd cobbled together.

Just her luck.

All the same, she _was _an engineer, and she _was _the only hope that _Equinox _had for getting their warp drive up and running. The thought of recreating her enhanced warp drive made her ill, but plain old Zefram Cochrane-style warp drive was not so morally objectionable. Besides, there wouldn't be any enhanced warp until there was regular warp.

The warp core itself was...well, it was in bad shape. The reactor housing itself looked okay, but that was it. The old control console where she had once stood was gone, replaced by a black scorch on the floor. Several other consoles were either completely missing or so badly damaged they'd be unusable. It was hard to look at. She'd worked so hard to keep Engineering functional, but it was like trying to bail out the ocean with a thimble; no matter how hard she worked, the ship just took more and more damage.

And it was hard to believe how Engineering had gotten this way. Captain Janeway had beamed in a photon torpedo. _That _she found hard to believe. Captain Janeway had been harsh, Marla thought. Captain Janeway had been judgmental. But cold-blooded murder? That didn't seem like something she would've done, even under the direst circumstances.

Then again, she had to remember. Her memories of Captain Janeway and _Voyager _were simply dreams. Rudy and Max had explained it. Janeway had tried to kill her rather than lose. According to Rudy, she'd lost anyway. And if _Voyager _found them again...the idea made her shudder from some reason.

She'd dreamed about it. Last night's sleep had been fitful, to say the least. As if waking up to this world of pain and darkness wasn't enough, she'd dreamed about being in Engineering, working the controls of the enhanced warp device. Seven had been lying stunned not far away, until Burke showed up to take her to the brig. She had to manually control the enhanced warp device; there were never enough functional computers on _Equinox _to put it under computer control. Besides, she didn't trust computers that far. This was tricky.

The ship had been shaking and shuddering, but it had been holding together under the increased strain of enhanced warp. They only had enough fuel to jump another five hundred light-years, but that five hundred light years would put them six months ahead of _Voyager _even at maximum warp. They had gotten away.

Then, an unfamiliar beep had attracted her attention. She'd scanned the rubble and debris around Engineering. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, until she'd realized that under one particular pile of rubble was a sleek black casing with the words _USS VOYAGER _on it in red letters. All too late, she realized what had happened and tried to turn and run.

The beeping had grown louder. She'd turned her head once as she fled, knowing it was already too late.

Black casing. Red lettering. White flash. Red wave of pain, then black everything.

She'd awoken drenched in sweat, clutching her lone torn blanket. A scream had been trying to escape her throat.

Thinking about it now even made her hands tremble and her palms sweat, and she almost dropped the tool she was holding. She took a moment and forced herself to calm down and examine the duplicate parts Rudy had gotten her.

For a man who didn't know much about engineering, he'd done pretty well. The pieces even _looked _reasonably like Starfleet equipment. There had been plenty of times she'd had to make do with scrounged alien technology that didn't even look like what it was supposed to be. At least these pieces would go in the holes Starfleet left reasonably well.

How had he gotten them? Was there a warp-capable civilization nearby? Had he traded for them, or stolen them, or what? It might be better not to ask.

The work gave her an escape. She didn't have to think about how everything she'd thought was true had turned out to simply be a fantasy. She didn't have to think about the fact that she was on a ship that had become a 24th century version of _Lord of the Flies. _She didn't have to think about the fact that the woman she had shyly looked up for two years to had turned out to be her attempted assassin. All she had to do was attach this to that, calibrate it, and get warp drive up and running. That ate up several hours. When she slid out from under the repaired warp core, she was surprised to learn she was hungry.

She'd have to get used to that, unless Rudy had gotten better at providing food than he had in the past.

There were a few new consoles stacked in the corner, and she paused, staring at them. Damn if these didn't look like Starfleet too. They'd fit right in the holes that were left. She connected those up and downloaded the appropriate layouts and programs. The familiar colors of Starfleet's standard keyboards came to life. There was even a couple of chairs. She smiled at how silly that was, but on _Equinox _there were very few luxuries. So she plunked herself in the chair and ran a few checks.

Everything was fine. There were dilithium crystals in a heavy metal case, and she lifted those to put them in the new warp core. A heavy _ka-chunk _sounded as the crystals slipped in. She closed up the core and began a diagnostic.

A sound made her turn. Rudy stood in the doorway and smiled at her tolerantly.

"Status?" he asked.

Her grimed fingers flew over the new console. "New warp core is within established parameters," she said hesitantly. "We should keep it at ten percent for a few days, maybe a week, for shakedown."

He nodded. "Fine. Next is enhanced warp."

She cringed. For just a few hours, she'd been able to forget about that. The sound of those horrid alien shrieks arose in her mind again.

"The device was completely vaporized," she said "It's...gone. Completely."

He nodded. "I'm aware of that. Tell me what parts you need. I'll get them. How long would it take you to rebuild it once you got them?"

She bit her lip. "A week...maybe ten days. It's tricky. You have to balance the plasma manifold exactly right. But, Rudy...,"

He looked her over slowly, toelrantly, as if expecting her question.

"But what?" he prompted.

"Maybe we _shouldn't _recreate it. Maybe this was a blessing in disguise. A way to start over. There's got to be another way to get home."

He sighed and sat down next to her. "Marla, none of us _like _doing it this way. But think of how many we've already lost. We almost lost you. We _need _that enhanced warp back online." His blue eyes speared hers mercilessly. "We went to a _lot _of effort to keep you alive, you know." Guilt stabbed her just the way he had doubtlessly meant it to.

"I know," she said plaintively. "But the aliens might stop attacking us."

He shook his head. "They've been trying. They attack in waves, to see if they can overwhelm the field generator. So far it's held up fine. We've got them stacked up in the lab."

For a moment she thought of it: the _Equinox's _science lab, supposed to be the proud symbol of what the Federation stood for. Science, progress, study. Theirs was a charnel house. She could picture the stacked alien corpses, small green hands poking out of the pile, limp mouths stretching open exposing those hideous needle-like teeth. Her stomach lurched. Burke did the actual conversion; he _liked _it. She'd only done it once, and watching Burke whistle a merry tune as he strapped corpses into the conversion device was absolutely nauseating.

"Marla, if you want a written order, I'll give you one. I'm your captain. This is what we _need _you to do." He shook his head and spoke passionately. "We have no choice. _Voyager _is out there. The aliens are out there. But all you have to do is recreate the device." He put his hands on her shoulders. "Don't you see...we have enough fuel now. We're going _home. _Just a few months, that's all. We're so close. We owe it to those who died to make it home. For _their _sake. So _their _stories can be told. You don't want to be the only thing keeping us here in this wasteland when everyone could be home, do you?"

Damn, he'd always been keen at hitting her weak points and making her feel like a whiny little girl. Did Starfleet offer a course called 'Inducing Guilt in Junior Officers' at Command School?

"Of course not," she said beseechingly. "But--,"

He stopped and gave her a calm but firm look. "Marla," he said firmly, "you have _always _given me your very best. I need that from you now. The crew needs that from you now. These are my orders. You're not responsible; I am." His voice made it clear that no argument would be brooked.

Marla felt guilt and shame clog her throat. She nodded wordlessly.

"Atta girl," he said, and rose. "Keep me posted."

She sat in her new chair and put her face in her hands. Why was she always so weak-willed? Why couldn't she stand up for herself? The first time it had cost her so much. The thought of living the rest of her life listening for that awful sound, living life knowing what depths of barbarism she'd descended to, was enough to make her think of heading for the cargo bay and giving herself to the icy embrace of vacuum. It would be quicker and less painful.

"But it's _wrong_," Marla Gilmore said to no one in particular, and started to cry.

"Okay," Tom Paris said to himself. "Here I go."

The captain had asked him to contact Noah Lessing and see what he could find out. Apparently Tuvok hadn't had a lot of luck. That didn't exactly surprise him; Vulcans weren't known for their sympathy. That, he thought, was what Lessing needed. Just a little understanding, and a reminder that this wasn't about the _Voyager _crew; this was about Marla.

It took a few minutes to get through to Earth, as the civilian communication net was just a bit slower than Starfleet's. But soon enough, the call went through and was answered. Tom smiled calmly as the bald black man appeared on the screen. He'd decided to make the call in his quarters, as the bridge of _Voyager _was probably the last thing that Noah Lessing would want to see. He also wanted the privacy.

He hadn't had a whole lot to do with Lessing in the Delta Quadrant. He'd bought him a drink once in Sandrine's. Their duties and duty shifts just didn't coincide much. All the same, he didn't hate the _Equinox _crew as much as the others did. He knew himself what it felt like to be scorned and hated.

"Hey," he said calmly.

"Lieutenant Paris," Lessing said calmly. "So glad you could take time out from your victory lap to chat with me. Let me guess; you want the same thing Tuvok did. To pick my brain."

Paris nodded tightly. "We need to talk to you, man," he said calmly. "_I _need to talk to you."

"Let me save you some time, golden boy," Lessing said. "I'm not part of Starfleet anymore, thanks to you guys. I got a double D thanks to you guys. Last thing I want is to talk to you." He leaned forward, reaching for the cutoff switch on his end.

Paris leaned forward himself. "Wait. This isn't about me or you. This is about Marla."

Lessing scowled, but didn't hang up. "Jeez," he said. "Can't you leave Marla alone? When has someone suffered enough for you people?"

"You got me bad," Paris said, slipping into what little prison slang he could say over a public network. He didn't know how much prison slang Lessing had picked up – he hadn't been locked up very long – but maybe it would work. "We're not doing anything _to _Marla. We're trying to help her. Somebody snatched her off the street in San Francisco."

Lessing stopped and looked thoughtful, although an untrusting cast still remained over his features. "Who did that?"

Paris shrugged. "We don't know. They stole some stuff from _Voyager, _too. The captain's mad. She wants to know what happened."

It was the wrong thing to say; at the mention of the captain Lessing's mouth twisted. "To hell with her," he said coolly.

Tom swallowed. "Listen," he said urgently. "I don't blame you for being mad at Captain Janeway. I'd be mad at her too, if she did to me what she did to you. And I've had my own tangles with her, don't get me wrong. But this isn't about Captain Janeway. It's about Marla. I just...I just need to talk to you, man. Just a couple questions."

Slowly, reluctantly, Lessing leaned back. "Fine," he said heavily.

"Do you know anybody who might've wanted to do this?"

Lessing shook his head. "No," he said finally. "Last time I saw Marla was when the security goons came to get us off _Voyager. _Saw her once on the rec yard, but I couldn't talk to her or anything. Nobody said anything to me about it."

"You got out before her, right?" Tom asked.

Lessing nodded. "Yeah," he said. "I was gonna visit her, once I got out. I just...," he smiled painfully. "I went on a bender, if you want to know. Years on _Equinox, _then we were slaves on your ship, then prison...I wanted to go get drunk. So I did."

Tom didn't flinch. "I know the feeling," he said. "I was in prison too, you know. Still...three days? That's a long ride."

Lessing's brow furrowed. "It wasn't three days," he protested. "Just...one night, then into the next day after I slept."

Tom shook his head. "SJA records say you were released three days before Marla was," he said, and smiled to show he meant no offense. "I'm not judging you, Lessing. In your shoes I'd have done the exact same thing. I'm just trying to get things straight."

"It was just two," Lessing insisted, although he looked thoughtful.

Tom didn't think Lessing was lying, per se. But he was confused. Maybe he was just missing a day. Or maybe...maybe someone had taken a day away from him.

"Did anybody talk to you that you remember? About Marla, or _Equinox, _or anything?" he prompted.

Lessing shook his head. "Nope," he said, and pondered. "Just people looking to get drunk and forget the universe. Some guy bought me a couple drinks. I didn't talk about _Equinox _or _Voyager._"

Tom nodded slowly. "I don't think you would have," he said. "Listen. This isn't easy, over a comm link. I think somebody might've slipped you a Mickey Finn while you were out there celebrating. I'd like to have you come to Vulcan. Our EMH can look you over. We can try and help you remember. What do you say?"

Lessing snorted. "No," he said. "There's no way in hell I'm getting back on _that _ship. Go wave to the crowds, but leave me alone."

He looked at Tom with an intensity he hadn't before. "Listen, Lieutenant...I would never hurt Marla. We went through hell together. I saved her butt dozens of times, and she saved mine just the same." He didn't seem angry, just very hurt and tired. "If I'd known some guy was gonna kidnap her, I'd have found them and fought them until one of us was dead. For you to call me here and quiz me about whether or not I had anything to do with it...all that proves is that you don't understand me at all."

Tom sighed. "Actually, no, Noah," he said slowly. "I understand you better than you think. I know what it's like. I know what it's like to be in prison. I know what it's like to be on a ship where you have zero power and zero authority, and everyone else on the ship hates you. I know what that's like on _this _ship." His voice was calm and quiet.

"When I came on _Voyager, _it wasn't as a lieutenant or helmsman. It was as an advisor. I was in prison, down in Auckland. Janeway came and made me an offer. If I helped her track the Maquis, she'd put in a word for me with the parole board. It...wasn't easy. The only one who was at all friendly to me was Harry. Everybody else...from the way they looked at me, I got the idea they'd just as soon punch me if the captain wasn't watching."

"You guys had each other. I didn't have anybody. Then we got sucked into the Delta Quadrant, and I got offered a field commission. Second chances happen, Lessing. I got a second chance, and I made the most of it."

Lessing shrugged. "Good for you," he said. "I got a dishonorable discharge."

Tom refused to give up. "And I got a prison sentence. Arrest, conviction, public shaming, shipped off to New Zealand in shackles. I assure you I've got the shame thing down. Look...you've seen the bad side of how Captain Janeway gets when she wants something. Maybe you could get the good side of that, too. You're right. We're the big heroes. Everybody thinks Captain Janeway is the greatest thing since the invention of warp drive. You've got to know a letter from Captain Janeway, and maybe one from Commander Chakotay too, would do you a world of good in getting your discharge upgraded from dishonorable to general. Your name could be cleared. With a general discharge, you could re-enter Starfleet if you wanted. If not, then at least you wouldn't have that hanging over your head."

Lessing shook his head and smiled ruefully. "You say that like you believe it could happen," he said, as if Tom was a child.

Tom shrugged. "Hey. Look. This ship had a convicted felon as its helmsman, a Maqui commander as its executive officer, and another Maqui as its chief engineer. Also an ex-Borg as head of Astrometrics."

"Yeah, well," Lessing said. "You're Janeway's favorites. I'm not, to say the least."

"Times change. At one time, it was pretty clear Janeway didn't think a hell of a lot of me, either. She tossed me in the brig once, too. Thirty days on the Tuvok train." He chuckled and shook his head. "I haven't always been her favorite. But I got a second chance. You can have one too. The door's open. All you have to do is walk through it. But it's got to be now."

The black man shook his head again. "There's no way Janeway would _ever _give the likes of me a second chance," he repeated.

Tom sighed. "Lessing, if you think I approve of what she did in that cargo bay, you're wrong. She was dead wrong, and she knows that. But she's not Satan incarnate. She's a person, just like you and me. She could help you get a second chance. But dammit...we don't have a monopoly on giving those out. You've got to be willing to give us a second chance, too."

"I'm not on your ship anymore," Lessing said sharply. "I'm not part of Starfleet anymore. I don't have to do anything."

Tom exhaled sharply. "You know what? You're right. I can't order you to come to Vulcan. I can't order you to do anything. I could get the entire bridge crew right here next to me, and none of us could make you do anything. But dammit...it's not about us. It's not about you. It's about Marla. I saw her get stuffed in a van myself. Thirty seconds and it was over. These guys were professionals, Noah."

He saw the other man's face tighten and his lips thin. _There _it was. That was his in.

"Give us a second chance and we'll see that you get one. I'll make sure you have those letters in your hand, signed by both of them, before you leave. You're free to say no. But what about Marla, Noah? Does _she_ deserve a second chance? She's somewhere out there. Frightened. Alone. Captive. Whoever's got her, I don't think whatever they've got planned for her is gonna be good. You want to say no? Fine. You're your own man, Noah. What kind of man do you want to be?"

Lessing tensed and shook his head. A low, shuddering sigh emitted from his lungs. "You son of a bitch," he remarked. "I can see why you got picked for this."

"You want to call me that? Fine. Call me every curse in the book, if it makes you feel better. I got a book of Klingon curses in my quarters. I'll lend it to you."

Lessing smiled.

"You said you'd die for her, and I believe you," Tom said. "I'm not asking you for that. Just come to the ship, let the doc look you over, and answer a couple of questions. You'll get guest quarters – same as senior officers get. There's a reservation in your name for the night flight to Vulcan. The reservation number is four-seven-two-six-alpha. Do what you think is right."

"You _Voyager _people make me sick sometimes," Lessing said heavily. "You think you get whatever the hell you want."

"I want to see you get a second chance, Lessing. I want Marla to have one too. I'd like to see the both of you have a shot to get where I am. Give us a shot, Lessing. Come here and talk with us. You won't regret it."

Those cool light brown eyes studied him.

"I know I've said it," Tom said, "but it's not about you, and it's not about me, and it's not about _anybody _on this ship. It's about Marla. Do it for her, man. She needs you."

Lessing gritted his teeth. "Fine," he said unwillingly. "Though you're still a son of a bitch."

Tom grinned. "See you tomorrow. Son of a bitch out."


	8. Scans

_Author's note:  
_

_  
Here we are, another chapter. Reviews are gratefully appreciatesd. Katarina, one day I'll get the Maquis/Maqui thing straight. JadziaKathryn, you ask to see Janeway sleuthing, and so you have your wish. :) For now, let's meet the bad guys...  
_

Kilbourne had been the visionary behind this project. He had been the man who sifted _Voyager's _logs for information that might be useful to Section 31. He had been the man who had seen how _Equinox's_ enhanced warp drive could fit nicely into another, larger plan. He had worked behind the scenes, tirelessly weaving this thread and that, preparing to make the whole.

Some of it had been simple. Marla Gilmore had created her enhanced warp device aboard a _Nova-_class science vessel; she would need another one to do what he wanted her to do. Fortunately, the _Nova-_class vessel was the workhorse of Starfleet's scientific division, and there were plenty of the small ships. Planning to bring her into custody had been simplicity itself, since Marla Gilmore had arrived back in the Alpha Quadrant and been delivered straight into captivity. Her removal from society had been quick, easy, and discreet.

Some of it had been more complex. Section 31's Psyops division had conducted discreet testing on the blonde engineer during her confinement, and they had determined that she would be unwilling to recreate the device under normal circumstances. That had required this deception operation. _Grambyo _had been damaged to resemble _Equinox, _and he had gotten three Psyops agents surgically altered and prepared to play the roles of Rudy Ransom, Max Burke, and Noah Lessing. The other crewmembers of _Equinox _could be and were played by holograms, but she would be in regular contact with those three.

So far, he was pleased with his results. Bringing Gilmore into his custody had gone smoothly. He'd been nervous when Benning had admitted that Janeway had seen the packaging. Not too nervous – after all, he had contacts in Starfleet that were bigger than Janeway would ever be, even though she was currently the Woman of the Hour. But, he'd been able to get Janeway and her crew sent on a smile-and-wave tour which would keep her busy until he was done.

There was one thing he had not yet done; he had not actually seen his prize up close yet. He hadn't been on _Grambyo _as it was slowly and methodically battered into _Equinox. _He had no particular reason why, other than the fact that he had not needed to be on the ship.

He found he was rather looking forward to it.

So earlier that evening, he informed his ersatz Captain Ransom that he would meet with him on his ersatz _Equinox. _Beaming over to the science vessel was quite safe; any ship approaching would be detected long before it detected them. The ship was quite authentic; his engineers had been meticulous. Debris crunched under his feet as he stepped from the transporter pad.

The agent who he had assigned to play Captain Ransom was waiting for him. He was very good. Kilbourne wouldn't have picked him if he hadn't been. He knew the agent's real name, but thought of him as Captain Ransom. Only Section personnel who needed to know his real name knew it.

"Sir," Ransom said gruffly. "Welcome aboard."

"Thank you," Kilbourne said mildly. In person, he was a mild, quiet man. Many would have thought him shy. Adopting a mild and quiet demeanor served to hide his true nature. "I trust Ms. Gilmore will not know of my presence?"

Ransom shook his head. "No, sir. Her quarters are airtight. Twenty minutes or so after she's gone to bed, we flood the room with anesthezine gas. There's a holoemitter in her closet, and the EMH takes over from there."

Kilbourne nodded. "And is he functioning properly?" He turned to head up to crew quarters. Ransom fell into step beside him.

"The doctor...is doing his job properly, yes," Ransom said slowly.

"Is there a problem?"

"Not operationally, sir. It's just that...he seems to _enjoy _it. It's a bit odd to see an EMH act like Dr. Jekyll."

Kilbourne chuckled. "Emergency Medical Holograms are programmed to react with simulated empathy," he explained. "It was necessary to reverse this aspect of his programming in order to have him do what we want him to do."

Ransom nodded. "I realize that," he said. "Still...it's odd to see a holographic sadist at work."

They took the graviton lift with no fear. The _Grambyo _was equipped with a duplicate of the auto-initiating security grid, and while the alien life forms that had attacked _Equinox _had attacked _Grambyo _with equal ferocity, so far all it had gotten them was a pile of corpses stacked up in the lab. Seven of Nine had engineered better than she knew.

Most of the staterooms were unoccupied, even for senior crew. Although Kilbourne had insisted on realism, it was a waste of power to assign quarters to holograms. He stopped at one and looked down at the door. A plaque hung askew on it.

_GILMORE, M. CHIEF ENGINEER USS EQUINOX. _

A soft cry came from the door. Kilbourne looked curiously at the door and tilted his head. Ransom smiled tightly.

"The doctor is in," he said quizzically.

The door opened silently without sounding a tone. It had been designed to do that, too. The crew of this ship needed to have access to their prisoner. The light was barely enough to see by, as it had always been dark on _Equinox. _Even so, once his eyes adjusted, Kilbourne could see very well.

Marla Gilmore lay on her bunk, wearing a tattered Starfleet-issue nightgown and wrapped in a torn blanket. She was unconscious. On her temples, two small devices blinked on and off. Her sleep was not restful; she tossed and turned and emitted low moans of terror.

The EMH crouched over her, watching her intently. When he saw the two men entering, he gave them a merry smile and adjusted the control he was holding.

"Good evening, gentlemen!"

"She's not going to wake up, is she?" Kilbourne always got to the point when there was one to get to.

"Not at _all. _Ms. Gilmore is currently under chemical restraint. You could shoot her with a phaser and she wouldn't wake up." The EMH's eyes gleamed, as if the idea appealed to him. "Conversational speech won't do a thing."

Marla flinched under him and squirmed. Kilbourne watched her without emotion. "What is that on her head?" he asked with interest.

"This wonderful toy? It's derived from Romulan mind probes. It's essentially a nightmare generator." The doctor gleefully punched a few buttons on the control and watched the blonde woman under him tense and emit a shriek. He seemed inordinately pleased by the result. "Rather like a holodeck in effect, except it occurs in dreams. Since I have little medical duties these days, I've been refining the Janeway torpedo attack scenario and making her go through it again...and again...and _again." _The hologram chuckled merrily.

Ransom gave Kilbourne a look that made it clear his opinion of the doctor's medical skills.

"It seems to be quite fun for you," Kilbourne said calmly.

"It _is. _Watch her brainwaves spike as the torpedo goes off! The fear index is simply _wonderful. _I've overlaid Janeway's voice condemning her as it goes off. That's very difficult to time correctly." The EMH preened, his features betraying the best damn simulation of smugness Kilbourne had ever seen.

Kilbourne turned to Ransom. "Other than amusing the EMH at Ms. Gilmore's expense, what purpose is this serving?"

The EMH broke in. "Well, she'll wake up exhausted and traumatized in the morning. And of course she'll--,"

Kilbourne sighed. "Computer, mute EMH audio output," he said in that same mild, unaffected tone of voice. The EMH spoke for a moment more, then frowned in irritation.

"Please, doctor, go on with your work," Kilbourne invited. "Captain?"

Ransom sighed. "Some things are going well," he said. "Gilmore seems to be accepting this as reality. That's not surprising; she's been under heavy medication since she got here. She doesn't seem to be looking for any reason to deny that this is _Equinox _or that she's in the Delta Quadrant. She's not fighting the simulation that way."

Kilbourne nodded. "Go on," he invited.

"She _is _trying to fight it another way. She's trying to hold onto the moral outlook she adopted on _Voyager." _

"That's not very good news," Kilbourne observed. "The biological agent this ship is going to carry is undergoing tests not far from here."

Ransom raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Yes. Two Romulans and a Vulcan. Infection occurred elsewhere, but according to the bioweapons division, symptoms will set in while they are at Deep Space Nine. We'll be able to observe them there. We need this drive operational soon."

Ransom sighed. "We're doing what we can, sir."

Kilbourne pursed his lips. "I realize that. Continue the briefing."

Ransom stopped for a moment to gather his thoughts. His craggy features twisted as he pondered.

"I've worked in Psyops for many years," he began. "I've studied how people react in disasters. _Equinox _is one. Tarsus IV, with Kodos the Executioner, there's another. He said it best himself: survival depends on extreme measures. Their Starfleet psych evals _before _they left indicate they were fully normal people. On _Equinox, _they were pushed beyond their limits. We like to think that people will stand up for principle, but we're largely fooling ourselves. Most people in that position will choose survival over principles."

Kilbourne nodded. It made perfect sense to him. The Federation could not survive if it _always _clung to principle. The bad guys didn't always cling to it, so why should they?

"From our point of view, _Voyager _was the worst place she could have ended up. At first, Janeway was tough on all of them. They were closely monitored. Seems Janeway does have a weak spot for rehabilitating problem children. She eased off Gilmore and Lessing once they showed remorse and a desire to rehabilitate." Ransom chuckled. "That's not unusual, either. Sure, she was mad at them, but she got over it. The point is, on _Voyager _they had enough to eat, adequate defense...all the things that had pushed them to their limits on _Equinox _were gone. They were made to feel guilty and despised. They could've developed a persecution complex. It seems Gilmore didn't, though. She's still clinging to her _Voyager _morals – trying to rehabilitate herself, trying to improve, trying to show that she can be worthy."

"That's not useful," Kilbourne said. "We need her to build the damn mutagenic drive."

Ransom nodded. "She will," he said. "She broke once before. She'll do it again. It's just a matter of time. We can break her will by speeding things along. Emotional pressure. Psychological tactics. Eventually, she _will _revert to her _Equinox _morality – survival over everything. We can continue with the drugs. We can cut her rations – that'll do more than you think. Once the blood sugar levels drop, people become _much _more pliable. The human brain runs on glucose. Take it away and she'll break that much faster."

The doctor snapped his fingers, having re-initialized himself so he could speak again.

"Insulin injections!" he said suddenly. "I should have thought of it earlier. We can send her blood sugar _crashing." _He emitted a disturbing cackle.

"Thank you, doctor," Kilbourne said dismissively. He reached over and absently smoothed a sweaty lock of Marla Gilmore's hair away from her face. She twisted under him and moaned, troubled by the images the doctor was gleefully downloading into her mind. It _was _too bad, he thought absently. Once she built the thing, she wouldn't have to suffer anymore. If it was possible, he would see if Section 31 could relocate her somewhere where she'd be useful. And whoever had come up with the patches to make the EMH into an interrogation tool had done a disturbingly good job.

All the same, he had a job to do, and he would do it. He glanced at Ransom with cool eyes.

"Do whatever you need to do," he said. "I want that drive. Consider yourself authorized to do whatever you have to to get it. Try and keep her functional; we may need her to troubleshoot it for us. But get it built."

The door chime sounded where she was working. She turned her head.

"Come," she called.

Chakotay entered the readyroom and looked curiously at his captain. She sat behind her desk, coffee cup in hand, studying her monitor screen.

"I thought you had Tuvok heading up the investigation," he said.

Kathryn Janeway nodded. "I did," she said absently. "I'm just trying to...help him out. Run a few things down."

Chakotay shrugged. "You're the captain," he said. "You do know you have a conference on Vulcan in an hour."

Janeway turned back to the screen. "I'll go. I'm trying to figure out anything I can. I don't particularly feel like describing what sorts of small amphibians we saw in the Delta Quadrant, or extrapolating data on how many races developed warp drive."

"So what are you doing?" His voice was low and concerned.

"Well," she began. "If you were going to try and make Marla Gilmore build her warp device again, what would you do? And why would you want it?"

Chakotay grinned. "Assuming I was that amoral, I imagine I'd try to get her a ship to build it with," he said. "Obviously."

Janeway smiled like a cat. "That's what I'm thinking," she said. "Now, if whoever did this can steal from _Voyager _and arrange a kidnapping within sight of Starfleet headquarters, they could probably get their hands on a _Nova-_class ship, don't you think?"

"I suppose," Chakotay said. "But they made a lot of those little ships. They're the workhorse of the science fleet. You could be there a while."

Janeway nodded.

"I'll keep at it," she said. "I'm looking for ships that would be on longer-term deep-space missions. Ones that wouldn't be missed for a while. It's slow going."

He nodded. "I wanted to make sure you knew. Noah Lessing is on board."

Kathryn Janeway's face pulled into a pained grin. "I know," she admitted. "He boarded the ship just before the nightwatch crew got off. They informed me at shift change. I'm not sure my presence would to a good working atmosphere."

Chakotay nodded. "You think he hates your guts." His voice was surprisingly flat.

Janeway sighed. "He has a right," she admitted. Her voice dropped down a bit. She'd always been so good about keeping her shields up, being the unflappable captain for her crew's sake. "I did things to him I'm not proud of. A lot of things I did then, I'm not proud of."

"We all make mistakes, Kathryn," he reproached her gently. "It's what you do with it that counts. You're the captain. Go down, say hello, and let Paris and the doctor continue questioning him."

She thought for a moment. She was being silly. This was her ship. She'd done worse. All the same, there was a part of her that did not want to see Noah Lessing. She didn't want to know what images of her were behind those cool brown eyes. Marla Gilmore's logs had already reminded her that not everyone esteemed her so purely.

The logs were part of it. At first, she'd thought Marla Gilmore to be amoral and untrustworthy; the logs told a different story. A story of a young, frightened woman who had been put through hell along with the rest of her crew and had desperately trusted in the only authority figure she had.

She had her own sins to account for during the _Equinox _affair.

Ransom had been right on one thing. It was easy to cling to principle sometimes. It was easy to say that she was doing this because no one deserved to be kidnapped and hustled away. It was easy to paint oneself as the great warrior for truth and justice.

And that was part of her drive. But other, less cut and dry issues were there, too. Had whoever done this looked at her record and decided she wouldn't care too much if an _Equinox _crewman disappeared? Was that a reasonable conclusion to draw, based on her own records? Her reticence to visit Noah Lessing seemed to spring from the same source.

_All right. I'll redeem myself. _

"You're right," she said. "You're with me, Chakotay. He may...feel more comfortable with you there."

He nodded wordlessly.

She rose and took a moment to arrange herself. Every inch a Starfleet captain. The walk down to Sickbay seemed to take forever, and yet it went much too quickly for her taste. Her stomach knotted as she turned to enter the doctor's realm.

Noah Lessing sat on a biobed, allowing the doctor to hold a scanner close to his head. He was chatting pleasantly, if a bit tightly, with Tom Paris. When she entered, it seemed the temperature in the room dropped ten degrees. Those pale brown eyes laid on hers.

No emotion escaped it. Just as when he'd been locked in her cargo bay and she'd threatened to drop the shields. Just as when she _had _dropped the shields. She would have killed him.

Was there forgiveness in those eyes? Compassion? Cold hatred? She couldn't tell, and it unnerved her.

"Captain Janeway," was all he said. His voice betrayed nothing more than those dark features.

"Mr. Lessing," she said, and essayed a smile. Should she offer to shake hands? It didn't seem like a good idea. "Welcome aboard. I'm...glad you came."

He nodded slowly. "I'm here for Marla," he said resolutely.

"As are we all."

The doctor could sense the tension and interceded to break it. "I believe Lieutenant Paris's suspicion is correct," he said. "Mr. Lessing's brain scan indicates that he was recently...probed."

Both Lessing and Janeway seemed surprised. Still, the atmosphere seemed less tense than before.

"What did these guys do to my head?" he asked.

The doctor smiled nervously. "Most likely, they attempted to retrieve data from your brain," he suggested.

"They could've just _asked _me."

"It's likelier they needed to extract a large amount of data under quick circumstances. Also, it seems that they used some sort of drug to erase your memory of the encounter. I may be able to help you remember."

Lessing turned away from Janeway to stare at the doctor. "And just what do _you _need to do to my brain?"

The doctor seemed on firmer ground when discussing medical procedures. "I'd need to sedate you and stimulate your synaptic pathways," he said. "I assure you, the procedure is harmless." For just a moment, Noah Lessings eyes flicked back to Janeway in an unspoken accusation: _Can I trust an EMH on her ship? _Janeway pulled herself up to military attention and said nothing. It was, after all, his decision.

"And what would happen?"

"You may be able to remember the person who did it. If they said anything. That sort of thing," the doctor said. "You wouldn't suffer damage, Mr. Lessing. I assure you, I'm programmed to protect all my patients from harm."

Lessing eyed the doctor suspiciously for another moment. He did, after all, know very well how easy that was to change. Then he glanced at Tom and pointed.

"Don't you start in on me about how it's about Marla," he said.

Tom shrugged. "Wasn't _dreaming _of saying anything like that," he said, and smiled.

"Seems my poor old brain's already been worked over. Might be better to leave it alone." His eyes slid to Janeway for just a second, just enough to make it clear what his real thoughts were.

"Mr. Lessing." The name escaped her before she'd decided what to say, an she felt foolish for a moment while she gathered her thoughts. "Mr. Lessing, I assure you...what I did to you that day was inexcusable. It's one of, if not the most, embarassing moments in my career. I was wrong, and I am truly sorry for it. But Mr. Paris is right. This is not about you or me. It's about Marla Gilmore and whoever kidnapped her. Please...Mr. Lessing, no one in Starfleet appears to care. Except the crew of this ship."

Damn, but he had _spooky _eyes when you came down to it. His dark features were a model of equanimity. She couldn't tell if she had reached him or if he would swing his legs over the biobed and head to the transporter room.

Lessing let out a snort.

"Fine," he said calmly. "I'll do the procedure. For Marla, fine. Fire away, doc. Let me just ask you this, Captain. You don't want to be judged by your worst moment. How come you never granted that privilege to us?"

Ouch. He knew just where to hit, now that he was a civilian and could speak his mind to her. She dug her fingernails into her palms behind her back for a moment while she searched for something to say.

"As I said, Mr. Lessing, I sincerely apologize," she began. "And I'll help you redeem yourself to Starfleet when this is over, and you have my word that every member of my command crew will provide you with a letter of reference to help you do that. For right now, though, let's set aside our differences. Marla Gilmore needs us both."

Lessing shrugged and lay down on the biobed.

"We'll do that," he said lightly. Janeway left the sickbay, Chakotay close in behind her.

"That didn't go so bad," he said, once they were out in the hallway.

Janeway's mouth quirked. "Not for you," she quipped. "It's...it's hard to see him. It's hard to be reminded of what I did. I don't know whether to hate him or offer him everything he could want for his forgiveness."

Chakotay exhaled through his nose in a long, thoughtful breath.

"This seems to have affected you a lot, Kathryn," he said as they headed for the turbolift.

He had always been the one she could be somewhat vulnerable around. As her most trusted confidant, he could be trusted. She could lower the captain's shields she maintained constantly around everyone else.

"It has," she admitted. "Everything about this bothers me. Starfleet not caring, someone stealing from my ship, seeing her hustled into the van, reading her logs....there's something about this whole thing...I couldn't tell you exactly what it is, Chakotay. I'm not sure myself. But this is something I...I _have _to do."

He nodded and smiled warmly. "Perhaps it's something you have to do to redeem yourself," he suggested. The same words she'd thought to herself in the readyroom.

Damn, sometimes she really hated how he could do that.

"Maybe," she said. "But to whom? Lessing? Gilmore?"

Chakotay shook his head gently. "No," he said. "To the only person who really matters, Kathryn. To yourself."

She found herself thinking about that even as she continued tracking all two hundred and fifteen _Nova-_class starships in service. Most were easily locatable and she crossed them off the list. Sixteen were on deep-space missions and could conceivably be missed. Six were in non-Federation space on diplomatic science missions, and could also conceivably go astray for a while. Five were being refitted.

Somewhere, out there, was a _Nova-_class ship that was missing. The commander of that ship was as ethically compromised as Ransom had been. Marla Gilmore was a prisoner on it. Kathryn Janeway would find it.

Several decks below her readyroom, Benning crawled into a Jeffries tube and opened a panel. His Starfleet uniform indicated he was just a crewman. No one had given him a second look. He was quite technically apt, and it wasn't hard to tap into _Voyager's _communications array. The message he sent was text, heavily encrypted, and to the point.

_Attn: Kilbourne, Commanding Agent/Project SLING_

_From: Benning_

_ Voyager is not just asking questions. Noah Lessing is aboard. Suspect they will discover mindscan. I am aboard Voyager, undetected. Please advise as to further orders. _


	9. Breakdowns

_Author's note: Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed. Yes, this is a Voyager fic, but here we have a cameo from DS9. And look, I got the Maquis thing right! :) _

No matter what she did, it wouldn't go away.

Marla _wanted _the problem to go away. She wanted more than anything to be back on _Voyager. _On _Voyager, _she was not well liked. Most of the crew had despised the _Equinox _five. She'd been busted down to crewman on _Voyager _and had a half-Klingon boss who didn't trust her.

But on _Voyager, _she'd also had enough to eat, and she'd gotten back to the Alpha Quadrant, and she didn't have the problem of the enhanced warp device.

She'd been able to buy a little time from Rudy by claiming that the new warp core wasn't ready for the new enhancements. A jiggle or two of the dials and she was able to prove her case. Lying to Rudy made her feel awful, though. They'd been through so much together.

She had plenty of engineering work to do on the crippled ship, but there was always that empty space in front of the warp core. All she had to do was rebuild it. They could be out of this horrible wasteland. They could be home. _Home. _That word had been her watchword, her goal, for so many years. All that was keeping her – all that was keeping the entire crew – from home was her own feeling that getting home this way was wrong.

It made her feel guilty. Who was she to keep everyone from home just because of her own morals? No one else on the ship felt that way. Knowing that they'd sacrificed to keep her alive while she lay unconscious in sickbay made it worse. After all that, knowing they'd struggled to keep her alive, not rebuilding the device seemed ungrateful, the act of a selfish little girl.

All that stood between her and creating it was that her own desire not to. She didn't want to kill any more aliens. She didn't want to have to look at the thing every day and remember what it was for. She'd told Commander Chakotay that she had tried not to think about how it would be used, but she couldn't forget it either.

It wouldn't look like much; a kettle sticking into the plasma manifolds. But she had known, and she would know again. She didn't want to do that if she could help it.

All the same, she didn't know how much longer she would be able to hold out. Would Rudy throw her off the ship? Burke would, in a heartbeat. Being in the Delta Quadrant had changed Burke, or perhaps only brought out what had already been lurking under the surface. Some of it was simply her own waning strength; being constantly cold and hungry and tired was a hard fate to bear, and eventually you'd turn down any path to get away from it.

She'd had the nightmare again last night. This time, she'd heard Janeway's voice, cold and cruel. _You betrayed my ship. This is the price I demand of traitors. Just think of how Ransom's going to run his ship without an engineer. _It didn't sound like the captain she had known. The proof was right in front of her eyes, though, She wasn't on _Voyager. _This was _Equinox. _This was reality.

She was running another diagnostic on the new warp core, and it was offering her the results she didn't want to see. Everything was fine, all the gauges in the green. _Equinox _would be able to cruise along at its maximum warp speed just fine. There was no reason she couldn't start on the enhanced warp drive.

There was, but Rudy and Max would never understand. They lived in the same world she had lived; one in which suffering and despair had long since extinguished higher morals. _It's wrong _was not an answer they would accept, but it was the only answer she had.

Her reverie was interrupted by a sound – a long, keening whine that she knew all too well. Marla stood up from her chair and looked around wildly. Where was the damn thing? Her hand dropped automatically to her waist, and found no phaser there. Her heart began to pound.

There, on the other side of Engineering. She dove for the panel and recovered the phaser, automatically turning it on and groping for the firing stud. Her arm swept in front of her, back and forth, seeking her target. Rudy had told her that the auto-initiating security grid was online, but what if it didn't work? They'd already lost so many crewmen to those horrible creatures.

A dimensional fissure opened two meters in front of Marla Gilmore. From it, a howling alien life form dove forth, seeking to grasp her and kill her with its touch. Her phaser hand automatically came up and fired.

The beam hit the wall next to the creature. Marla's heart leaped and she tasted copper on her tongue. Her eyes were wide, staring at the alien. Her hand shook, and she had to try and get a bead on it before it killed her.

The grid surrounded the alien with a forcefield, functioning with typical Borg efficiency.. She flattened herself against the wall anyway, covering it with a shaking phaser. The alien caromed around its prison for a few moments; easily the longest moments of her life. After what seemed like an eternity, it collapsed to the ground.

The thunder of heels made her turn, and she almost shot her own first officer dead. Max Burke stood on the doorway, a phaser rifle in his hands, an expression of mixed concern and annoyance on his face.

"You all right, Marla?" he asked.

She checked herself over and nodded slowly. Her knees were trembling. She didn't want him here. There was something creepy about the first officer of the _Equinox. _Every time he smiled, she'd always gotten the idea he was faking it. The only times he truly seemed happy was when he was doing his unspeakable work in the lab.

"Good," he said coolly. "We saw he'd gotten in here up on the bridge. Rudy sent me down here to make sure you were okay."

Marla nodded again, still trembling and feeling like a guitar string keyed up three octaves too high, and found her voice.

"I—I'm fine, Max. It just scared me, is all."

He nodded, looked around the warp core, and put his phaser rifle down. His boots rang on the deck as he stalked towards her and put the phaser rifle on her console. She shrank back from him and checked herself, knowing she shouldn't.

"You sure you're okay?" The expression of concern on his face was a careful sham. Good, but not good enough.

"Yes. I'm fine. It just scared me. The...the thing got it."

"The auto-initiating grid we got off the Borg drone." His voice was flat.

"Yeah. That."

He smiled again, the smile clearly not touching his eyes. "Good. I'm glad you're all right. But now, Marla...do you get it?"

Marla sat down hard on her chair before she collapsed. Aliens and Burke were not a combination to her liking. She eyed him carefully, trying not to let her distrust show.

"Get what?"

"We're in a war, Marla. We didn't mean to start it, but we did, and either we kill them or they kill us." His dark eyes were intense. "Rudy wants that enhanced warp up and running. Get us a parts list."

"I, uhh, I've been working on it, we need to shake down the warp core--,"

He was unmoved. "Just tell us the damn parts you need, Marla, then we can get out of this hellhole." His voice sounded annoyed, and Marla thought for a moment that it was one of the few real emotions he still had anymore. He reached down and picked up the dead alien by one flipper. "This guy _didn't _come to give you a kiss, you know." He flapped the alien corpse at her obscenely. Its mouth lolled open, exposing needle teeth. Her stomach rolled.

"Okay," she whimpered. "I---I'll get him a list. I'll get you a list. Please, Max, I--,"

"You've got to get on the stick," he said emotionlessly. "In case you didn't realize it, Marla, _Voyager _is out there somewhere. We can deal with these guys, but we can't build an anti-_Voyager _grid. And you never know if that grid is going to hold or not. So I'll ask you again, Marla. Do you _get _it?"

She felt a lump growing in her throat and simply nodded. Couldn't he see? Couldn't he leave her alone?

"Rudy says you've been dragging your feet on rebuilding the enhanced warp," he continued mercilessly. The contempt in his voice was worse than a whip. "Quit screwing around, Marla. You were in a coma for three months. We took care of you. Not _Voyager. _We did. And you of all people should know how little we have on this ship. We fed you. We changed your catheter. We bathed you just like a baby. You owe us."

The idea of Max Burke leering down at her comatose body, sponge in hand, suddenly made her nauseated.

She was weak and exhausted and scared. The idea of all this being over, not to mention Burke leaving her alone, was tempting as a siren's call. Just to be warm and safe again, with a replicator that actually gave you food when you asked for it instead of flatly announcing '_replicator rations exhausted'. _That was all she wanted. Was that so wrong?

"O-okay," she stuttered._ "_I'll get a list."

"Good. I want it by the time you finish up."

He turned on his heel and strode back up to the lab, swinging the dead alien by its tail as he went.. His boots echoed in the Jeffries tube as he went to perform his unspeakable task. She couldn't concentrate on anything; she was shaking and shuddering and felt like she might throw up. Her hands were jittering and she tasted sour acid in her throat.

Before she knew it, a PADD – one that still _worked, _no less, was in her hand, and she was beginning to scrawl out the parts she needed to build that hated, damned device.

_I can't. I can't do this. This is how it starts. _

Another voice in her head spoke up: _It's just a list. Give them the list, it's just parts. Rudy still has to get everything. It'll buy me some time, that's all. It's not like they don't have the schematic already. _

_ No. Don't. Max was just yelling at me because Max does that; it's how he gets his way. I can't do this. Doing it the first time cost me so much. No one will ever respect me again because of that. I can't do it again. I can't. I can't. _

_ But all those people on Voyager weren't your friends. They tried to kill you and they'll do it again. This is Equinox, and as much as I'd like to be on Voyager, I'm not. And how can I possibly tell these people who **did** stick by me and did keep me alive that they're not going to get home just because of my principles? Who the hell am I to make that kind of decision for them? _

The worst thing about _Equinox _hadn't been the violence, or the starvation, or the workload that no human being could've handled. The worst thing about _Equinox _was despair. Starfleet crews had been hungry, overworked, and attacked before. It was far worse to know that no one who knew you or cared about you knew where you were or what you were suffering. With an uncrossable gulf of light-years between you and home, you suffered in complete isolation. And none of it meant anything. There wasn't any grand purpose to it; you weren't saving Starfleet or some planet full of colonists or anything. It was just meaningless suffering and pain.

_Just a list, _Marla Gilmore thought dazedly. _Just a list, it's just a list, it's just a list, just parts, he doesn't have them yet, he might not be able to get them, they might not be good enough, it's just a damn list, who cares, I still have time, I can convince them, I just have to give him a list, both my captain and first officer ordered me to do it, didn't they? _

She was faintly glad it was Rudy who came down to Engineering a few hours later and not Burke. Wordlessly she handed him the PADD. He glanced down at it, smiled, and nodded.

"Thank you, Marla," he said. "I know. It's not easy. I'll work on getting these parts for you." A fatherly pat on her shoulder was her reward for having started that slow descent down the slippery slope.

She nodded, her throat clamped firmly shut, and managed a 'yes, sir' from somewhere.

She didn't cry. She didn't speak either; not in the sad, broken place that was _Equinox's _mess hall, not on her usual post-shift visit to the bridge, not in the corridors, and not in the cold darkness of her quarters. Marla Gilmore sat on her battered bunk, staring at nothing, wondering if she had just begun just the slow process of forfeiting her soul.

* * *

Dr. Julian Bashir was exhausted.

Things had been going normally for a while. A few fights on the Promenade, nothing he couldn't patch up. The O'Briens were visiting from Earth, and Molly O'Brien had an earache. That was nothing he couldn't handle either, even though pediatrics wasn't his specialty.

Then...well, then, hell had broken loose.

Romulans were still allowed to dock at DS9, and so there were a detachment of perhaps twenty Romulan soldiers on the station while their ship was being reprovisioned. Completely out of the blue, two of them

That was the only word for it. According to their fellows, they had started to complain of weakness and some muscle pain while at Quark's. Less than half an hour later, they'd collapsed and been brought to sickbay.

Once there, he'd done everything he could for them. Yet the symptoms worsened very quickly. They'd developed diarrhea and rashes. They'd begun vomiting. Their temperatures had spiked. Then their kidneys and livers had begun to shut down. Finally, internal and external bleeding had developed. After only a few days in his sickbay, they'd died.

He'd done everything he could. He knew that. Yet he hadn't been able to change the course of the disease one iota. He'd been reduced to simply making them comfortable while they died. That bothered him intently. He was a doctor. He was supposed to save lives . But he had failed here.

The disease was like nothing he'd ever seen. The closest he could find to it was an old Earth disease known as 'Ebola'. But Ebola, like most diseases, had been cured a few centuries ago. And there was no way Romulans could catch a disease that had existed on Earth. The physiologies were simply far too different.

To make matters worse, a visiting Vulcan scholar had come to his sickbay a day later, suffering identical symptoms. She, too, had died. He hadn't been able to do anything for her either.

Dr. Bashir was frightened as well as disappointed. He couldn't find _any _tie between the Vulcan and the Romulans. It was true that the Romulan Empire was being less than forthcoming with their whereabouts before arriving at the station, but even so, he couldn't find a match. Any doctor would have an extremely tough time putting the pieces together unless he was very bright and had all of the pieces of the puzzle when the patient first came in.

He stared at the three bodies in his sickbay, on gurneys pushed off to the side now. Sheets covered them and gave them anonymity in death. A forcefield surrounded them, so that whatever they had couldn't infect others.

He wiped his forehead and took a moment to stare at the sweat of his brow. His combadge skittered as he tapped it.

"Bashir to Nerys," he said tiredly.

A moment later, Deep Space Nine's commander answered him. "Go ahead."

"We have a _serious _problem. I'll need to inform Starfleet Medical and the Romulan ambassador. For now, we need to evacuate all Romulans and Vulcans from Deep Space Nine."

* * *

Tom Paris found it hard to concentrate. The procedure was going fine; no problems there. Noah Lessing was under sedation but awake, and the doctor was careful but calm as he piloted a stimulator around the black man's bald head. As acerbic as the doctor could be off duty, he really did care about his patients.

He found it hard to concentrate because he would ponder Noah Lessing's circumstances, and they were uncomfortably like his own. He hadn't ever killed aliens to make warp fuel out of them, but he'd been in the Maquis. He'd never done anything himself that was anything worse than fighting and drinking, but Michael Eddington had used biogenic weapons against a Cardassian colony planet.

At one time he would have simply shrugged it off as a casualty of war. But he was older now. An entire planet poisoned in the name of a cause that he, Tom Paris, had supported. He didn't like the thought of that.

_Voyager _had been his second chance in life, and he'd made the most of it. He'd left on _Voyager _as a prisoner; he'd returned a Starfleet lieutenant with a wife and daughter. The _Equinox _five had borne the brunt of their captain's crimes. Their names had been in the news. He knew that, too. It hadn't been _that _long ago that the holonews headlines had read _Decorated Admiral's Son captured in Maquis raid. _

What if he had never gotten that second chance? Would he have ended up like Noah Lessing? By now he'd have been off parole, but getting off parole was only part of it; you never really got your good name back. He kept seeing himself trying to get a job, or a room. _Oh, you're Tom Paris? The Admiral's kid who joined the Maquis? Can't use you. Sorry._

Would Noah Lessing ever get a second chance? Maybe he'd done some terrible things in the Delta Quadrant, but he had done them under circumstance that were pretty damned dire. And the _Equinox _crew had, after all, been acting under Captain Ransom's orders. It wasn't easy to defy your captain, and if you did you usually paid a price for it. He knew that all too well.

Would Marla Gilmore? That's what all this was about. B'Elanna had taken a while to warm to her subordinate. She held the _Equinox _crew responsible for the deaths of a few of her engineers, and Gilmore had been the only one under her. It hadn't been until the battle of Unimatrix Zero that she'd eased off, after Gilmore had busted her butt along with everyone else to get the ship functional again. She'd come up with a few shortcuts which sidestepped safety regs, but got warp back online faster. Safety regs didn't mean much if you died following them. He knew Harry had dated Gilmore a few times, but wasn't sure if anything had come of it.

And what did the captain have in mind, anyway? B'Elanna still had to answer for her Maquis days, like the rest of the Maquis except for him. He didn't like the idea of Marla Gilmore stuck somewhere, but he didn't like the idea of his wife going to prison for violating her release conditions either. But for right now, all he had to do was question Noah Lessing.

"Mr. Paris." The EMH sounded annoyed as it interrupted his reverie.

"Sorry," Tom covered. "Just thinking." He cleared his throat. "Okay, Noah. I want you to go back to the bar in San Francisco.

"Okay," Noah Lessing breathed. Those eyes that had troubled Captain Janeway so were hazy and thoughtful.

"Somebody bought you a drink there. Tell me about him."

"He was...white guy, like you. Pale skin. Tall as me, about. Really bright blue eyes," Noah mumbled.

"What did he say?" Tom pressed.

"He....bought me a drink. Asked me how I was. I told him...lousy. Didn't get into it. But he...," Noah twisted on the biobed and let out a sharp snort. "He knew my name. I didn't...didn't remember telling him. But I was drunk."

"He bought you a drink. What happened then?"

Noah's brow furrowed. "Can't...can't remember," he said thickly.

The doctor gave Tom a concerned glance and turned up the power on his device. "Increasing to thirty microjoules," he said.

"Try and remember again, Noah," Tom said.

Lessing jerked. "He got me another drink...then...," he snorted thickly. "then everything goes dark...,"

_I knew it, _Paris thought. "What happens when you wake up, Noah? Where are you?"

"This room...nothing in it but a chair. It's dark and I can't see anything. Totally dark...pitch black. My hands...my hands are behind my back. There's this thing on my head...it hurts. There are two voices...they ask me questions...it goes on and on. For hours. They turn on the device sometimes and it hurts. Really bad, like something's drilling in my head. Then they ask me...about Ransom and Burke...what they were like. I don't understand, Ransom and Burke are dead. Who would care? But they keep asking and keep asking...what are they like, how do they behave, stuff like that. Then one of them says...'We've got enough to construct psych profiles on, Mr. Benning,' and I feel...a hypo on my neck...then everything goes black. Then I'm in the alley behind the bar, stinking like booze...so I picked myself up, called my folks and booked passage home."

The doctor peered at the readout of his instrument. "I don't think we'll be able to get more out of him," he said. "Whatever combination of drugs and mind scanning equipment they used severely damaged his memories of the encounter. Pressing further could endanger his health."

Tom nodded. "Well," he said, "we've got something good. Somebody _did _scan his brain. But for what?"

"You're not cleared for that information," a new voice said.

Tom looked up. In the doorway stood a man with fierce blue eyes and reddish-blonde hair. He gave Tom a friendly grin, not seeming to notice the incongruity of the smile with the phaser he held trained on him.

"Believe me," Benning said calmly, "I apologize for having to do this to a Federation hero. But I'm afraid Mr. Lessing knows too much, and so do you."

Automatically, Paris's hand went to his combadge. "Security to sickbay! Intruder alert!" He dove over the biobed. Lessing had come here; the least Tom could do was get him some cover. The doctor strode over, intending to fight the man or hold him off until security got there. Paris pulled the sedated man down to the floor, trying to crouch over him and look for a weapon at the same time. The closest thing he could recognize was a laser scalpel. It would have to do.

Pulse pounding, Tom dodged around the biobed and looked. He could hear the doctor struggling with the other man. He flicked the laser scalpel on and crouched, trying to see who was winning. Then the phaser beam struck him. He had a moment in which the world tumbled away from him, the scalpel falling from his nerveless fingers and scorching the carpet, and then everything turned black.


	10. Taking Stances

_Equinox _was a small ship, and there weren't a whole lot of spaces that the senior officers could go when they needed to speak privately. Captain Ransom had a small readyroom off the bridge, just like most starships, but he didn't always use that. On the lowermost deck was a room that had once been used for the scientific missions _Equinox _had been designed for. Once it had held equipment to scan planetary landmasses, sample atmopheric conditions, and scan surface life from orbit.

The Krowtonan Guard had blown that equipment apart in their vicious attacks, and for a few years the room had been exposed to vacuum. It wasn't until _Equinox _had met the Poneans that it had even been repaired. The Poneans had been nice enough to help them by repairing that part of the ship. Their type was few and far between in the Delta Quadrant.

For a few years, it had been the secret meeting room of the senior crew when they wanted to discuss things outside of the crew's hearing. If anyone from the crew had been on the ship when they'd first met _Voyager,_they'd have met here. Instead, they'd met on the bridge of the ship.

That meeting still nagged at her. She'd asked what would happen to _Voyager, _and Rudy had been so dismissive. _They've got weapons, shields, a full crew. They'll survive. _Noah had suggested abandoning ship and forgetting what had happened there. What if they had followed that advice? They wouldn't have faced the shame of Janeway discovering their crimes. They might've been able to return to the Alpha Quadrant with their good names intact.

But no, Rudy had been cutting the way only Rudy could be, scoffing and deriding Noah by suggesting he could be bought with a shower and a hot meal. And now, here they were. Warp drive up, enhanced warp down. They were hiding, the way Rudy always did.

Today, Noah had told her that there would be a meeting of the senior officers in the back room at 1900. The euphemisms were bitterly amusing. Aliens were 'fuel'. Slaughtering them and converting their corpses to a usable form of power was 'refining fuel'. The room in which the command crew met when they wanted to discuss things away from the crew was the 'back room'. What would be next? If Max found a way to kill everyone aboard _Voyager _and strip the ship to a bare hulk, would that be called 'obtaining supplies'?

But she was a senior officer, and she had a duty, so she went. She knew what the top agenda item would be. Besides, this was her chance to convince them. Max was a lost cause, and that was tricky, because Max had a lot more of Rudy's ear than she did. Max _liked _killing aliens. All the hell _Equinox _had been put through had left a strange mark on him. He enjoyed being the one to inflict suffering on others instead of having it inflicted on him.

Swaying Noah over to her side was a likelier possibility. She'd always had a soft spot for him, and he her. She'd been simply a maintenance technician when _Equinox _first launched; he had been a buck crewman hoping to get promoted to officer. Rudy had made him an acting ensign when it became necessary to replenish the command crew. He'd always promised to make it official when they got home. They were the two junior members of the senior officers; two people put in positions of responsibility they weren't prepared to hold. He wasn't happy with Rudy's method of getting the crew home, either.

Rudy. It all came down to Rudy. After all, the ship wasn't a democracy; it was Rudy's ship and he was the boss. He wasn't an _evil _man, but he was determined to get his crew home by any means necessary. Noah could help change his mind, but ultimately it was his decision. He was her captain.

In the back room, she noticed a few things had changed. There was now a table and some chairs. They looked sturdy enough. Where had they gotten them? Probably from the same place he had gotten consoles and a reactor. How had he gotten them? Had he traded for them or stolen them? Both occurrences had already occurred on the _Equinox. _

Max, Rudy, and Noah entered. In Max's hands was a pot from which a delicious scent of roasting meat emitted. Marla closed her eyes and felt her stomach growl. It smelled _great. _Memories of barbecues in her childhood flickered through her mind. It was good enough to ignore Max's cold smile as he assumed his seat.

"Is that why the meeting is here?" she asked.

Max nodded slowly. For a moment she found herself suspicious. Rudy had done some dishonorable things in his time commanding the _Equinox, _but he had never held back supplies from the crew. If the lowest crewman on _Equinox _didn't have food, he would go without. It was part of the reason his crew followed him as loyally as they did. The crew of _Voyager _might have thought him a criminal, but he had his noble points.

It struck her as something Max would do. Max cared about two things: survival and getting home. Nothing else mattered – not the other crewmembers, not the rest of Starfleet, nothing. It was the reason the crew didn't love him but did fear him.

"We're the senior officers," Max said simply. "We need to eat. The crew is amply fed, I assure you."

She wasn't sure she believed him. Looking into his eyes, she could tell he didn't care. She glanced over at Noah and saw the same muted disbelief.

"Everyone's fed, Marla," Rudy said. "We've managed to lay in a good stock of food. Morale is good." His eyes held hers easily. "That's our first item. Morale is better, the ship's status is good, all things considered. What's the status of warp drive?"

Marla tensed, knowing the subject she was dreading wasn't far away. "The warp core is functional," she said. "Everything seems to be working fine. We won't know for sure until we shake it down and actually take it for a spin."

Rudy nodded.

"Weapons?" he asked.

Max shrugged. "We never have enough," he said. "What we've got is online. Phasers work, torpedoes work." It was better than _Equinox _usually had it.

"Shields?"

"Online and operational. I had to learn a trick or two about shield emitters while Marla was...sick," Noah Lessing said, and glanced at her.

Marla found herself a bit puzzled. He was her best friend on _Equinox. _She knew him better than anyone else. Yet now that she'd awoken, there seemed to be something different about him. He was more reserved and less friendly. Or was it simply her?

"Field generator?"

"Working fine," Burke smiled. "The aliens have been holding off their attack. We've got a nice little pile in the lab. Enough fuel to get home and then some." His dark, emotionless eyes fixed Marla's. "Which brings us to enhanced warp."

Her stomach lurched. "The enhanced warp device was destroyed," she said.

Burke sighed. "We _know _that. We're getting parts. How long until you can rebuild it?"

Marla clenched her hands. _Here I go. _"There's...something we ought to think about first," she said hesitantly.

Ransom sighed. "And what is that?"

She felt her palms begin to sweat. How did other people make this look so easy? The _Voyager _crew never had this problem standing up for principle. They just stood up and did it and nobody argued with them.

"I don't think we _should _rebuild it," she said, and felt her knees tremble under the table.

Burke raised an eyebrow at her. "Have you lost your mind?" he asked.

Marla shook her head. Her voice jittered as she spoke. "No. Have we forgotten we're Starfleet officers? Killing other beings is wrong. There's got to be another way. Wormholes, or something--,"

Burke's brow creased in anger. "This is a really,really bad time to grow a conscience, Marla," he said. "Principle's all well and good, but we're here in this goddam wasteland. We have another Federation ship bearing down on us. It's out there somewhere. Enhanced warp is our ticket home."

"But--," Marla began.

Lessing put a hand on her arm. "Nobody likes it, Marl, but it's necessary."

For a moment she stopped and stared at him. He'd never, never called her 'Marl' before. What the hell was going on?

She wasn't winning this battle; she could tell. They stared impassively back at her as if she was being unreasonable in suggesting that they not slaughter any more beings.

"I don't like this," he continued. "Nobody does. But we're here, we're alone, and we don't have any other options."

"Plus," Burke threw in, "do I have to remind you of the sacrifices we made to keep you alive? Three months. And this is how you pay us back?"

"It's _wrong," _she maintained. "What are we going to do when we make it back to the Alpha Quadrant? Just throw it out the window? Starfleet's going to look at Engineering and they'll know _something _was up. Any idiot who can do _math _will know something was up."

"All of which can be dealt with later," Ransom said gently. "Marla, I've tried to be as patient as I can with you. I know it's difficult. I've tried to be understanding." He leaned forward. "I know you _think _you were on _Voyager _for two years. But you weren't. That was just the result of the doctor stimulating your brain. None of it really happened."

"But, Rudy--,"

"No buts. Captain Janeway is not this strict but fair figure. She's a goddam psychopath. She's set her cap for us, and she'll kill us in a heartbeat if she gets the opportunity. We can't outfight her. We can't hide from her forever. The only thing we have is enhanced warp drive." He shook his head. "Even if we just use it once, that's a ten-year head start. "

_I'm losing. I can't convince any of them. _Her hands jittered. "I can't live like this," she said. "Can you? Can _any _of you?"

"Yeah," Burke said instantly, and grinned horribly. "I can live with it."

"I'll tell you what, Marla," Rudy said. "We won't _kill _any more aliens. We don't need to. We'll just...refine the fuel we have. They died trying to kill us, after all. They took the risk. It's enough to get us home. Don't you want to get home?"

Marla sighed. She felt exhausted, discharged, a great whistling mass of emptiness. It would be so easy to just give in. Build the enhanced warp drive, get home, deal with the rest later. She could recuperate in her parents' home for a while.

Yet something told her to stay the course. "Yes, but...,"

"Besides, Marla, why get all high and mighty now?" Burke asked. "It's not like you haven't done this before. You're _already _in it up to your neck. So finish the job. Let's get home. We'll worry about coverup later."

_Yeah, like that worked with Janeway. _"I can't build that thing again," she said miserably. "Looking at it every day, knowing what the fuel it runs is made from...I just...I can't."

Rudy exhaled and looked disappointed. He'd always known just how much she dreaded disappointing him, or any other authority figure. On _Voyager, _she'd been despondent because there was nothing that she could ever do that would make Captain Janeway think she was anything other than worthless.

"All right, Marla," he said. "I'll take that responsibiilty off your shoulders, and onto mine." His eyes met hers, a darker blue than her own. She flinched because she knew what was coming.

"As captain of _USS Equinox, _I hereby formally order you to rebuild the enhanced warp device," he said.

The gantlet had been thrown down. Marla took a deep breath and picked it up.

"That order contravenes General Order One, and I am not obligated to obey it," she recited.

"Marla, this isn't the Alpha Quadrant," Lessing said softly.

"Oh, jeez, the ever-lovin' Prime Directive," Burke sneered.

"I've given you a direct order, Marla," Rudy said. "Please. Don't make me--,"

"I refuse," Marla said. "I'm sorry. I just...I can't. I can't."

Rudy leaned back and adopted a disappointed mien. It pierced her through. But she had to do this. She wasn't sure why herself. Burke was right; she _was _in this up to her neck, and it wasn't like Starfleet or Janeway or anyone would forgive her prior crimes. But every fiber of her being cried out against that infernal device.

_It's for my soul, _she thought confusedly. _All our souls, all of us, poor wretches that we are, please, can't you see I'm doing this for all of us? _

That made no sense either; she had no particular claim to religion. It wasn't often practiced in the 24th century. But it was all she had.

Rudy sighed.

"Then you leave me no choice," he said slowly, and tapped his combadge. "Ransom to security."

"On my way," a voice replied.

"Please come to the back room. We need you." He faced Marla down sternly. She quailed inside, and part of her screamed to fall to her knees and beg his forgiveness and build his device.

"Marla, I don't like this," he said, "but...you are confined to your quarters, on reduced rations, until such time as you comply with my orders."

She simply nodded. She went along willingly with the sorry security detail of two underfed security officers. She didn't speak or object as they brought her to her quarters. It wasn't until the door closed behind her, and she realized she'd driven away the only people in the universe who cared for her, that she let herself break down into sobs, more alone than she had ever felt in her entire life.

* * *

Janeway was on the bridge when she heard Tom Paris call for security. The words _intruder alert _grabbed her immediate attention. Her stomach knotted. Intruders on her ship? Around _Vulcan? _This got worse and worse.

She was torn. At the security station, Tuvok was calmly but urgently issuing orders. He was a good security chief, and she didn't want to get in his way. At the same time, she wanted to know what had happened.

She waited until he finished. "Mr. Tuvok. Status."

"Lieutenant Paris has reported an intruder alert," Tuvok said calmly. "Security teams are en route."

She tapped her combadge. "Bridge to Paris."

No reply came. The atmosphere grew oppressive. "Mr. Paris, respond," she said urgently. A few seconds later, a voice spoke.

"Security to bridge."

It wasn't Paris. Her stomach rolled. "Go ahead," she said.

"Paris and Lessing have been hit. The doctor is treating them now. No sign of the intruder."

Her legs thrummed. She had to do something. Find the bad guy, save her crew, whatever. "Mr. Tuvok, you're with me. Mr. Chakotay, you have the conn."

"At once, captain." Tuvok stepped to her side and took a phaser from the security station. "Security detail to the bridge."

When Kathryn Janeway was angry or upset, she did not walk or run through the corridors of her ship as much as _storm _through them. She stormed now, down to the turbolift, forcing Tuvok and the security officers who fell into step behind him to hurry in order to keep up.

What she saw in the sickbay was appalling. Paris on one biobed; Lessing on the other. Both were unconscious. The dark skin of Lessing's bald head was burned and blackened on one side. The doctor worked over him quickly.

"Status," Captain Janeway ordered.

"I have two patients in critical condition. One of whom was my backup medic. Mr. Lessing has suffered a phaser blast to the head, and Mr. Paris was hit in the back." The doctor seemed torn. Both patients needed him.

An idea occurred to the captain. It seemed bizarre, but perhaps it could work. "Do you need a hand, doctor?" she asked.

"Of _ course _I could use a hand," the doctor said peevishly.

She glanced over at Tuvok. "Computer," she said peremptorily, "locate the _Equinox _EMH in the secondary data core. Activate his program and route him through the sickbay holoprojectors."

Tuvok's eyebrow rose. "Captain, the _Equinox _EMH is hardly trustworthy."

Janeway turned and allowed her eyes to bore into him. "I've got everything I need to assure his cooperation," she said, and smiled coolly.

With a sparkle of light, a second EMH appeared in the sickbay. It was one thing to know that their doctor had his portable emitter, and thus left the sickbay holoprojectors free. But seeing two EMH's in the same sickbay was just plain weird.

The _Equinox _EMH blinked. "Please state the nature of the medical emergency...wait. Where is my crew? Where is the _Equinox?" _

Janeway moved closer to him. Her eyes sparkled icily at him.

"Doctor, you haven't been activated for two years. We're in the Alpha Quadrant, and the _Equinox _was destroyed long ago. I don't have time to argue with you or answer questions. Listen to me now. You have one chance and one chance only to earn your redemption."

She pointed at Paris and Lessing. "We have two crew members who need your assistance. If you help our doctor and save their lives, I'll have your program transferred to the holographic research lab at Jupiter Station and they can decide what to do with you. If you try to get in our way or do anything other than help, I'll have your program decompiled. It's your choice. I want an answer. Now."

The EMH blinked and looked at his _Voyager _counterpart.

"Don't look at _me_," the _Voyager _EMH said. "You're a doctor. Here's a patient. Treat him."

Tuvok sidled closer to her and tried to address his question subtly. "Captain, the _Equinox _EMH has no ethical subroutines. Can you trust him?"

Janeway nodded. "Like any creature, he wants to survive," she said.

The _Equinox _EMH gave her a disapproving look. "Captain Janeway, I'm not merely an animal. In fact, I'm not even an animal. I do care for my crew." He stopped forward to examine Noah Lessing, the only familiar face in the room. "Phaser burn," he said. "Crippling injury. We'll need to induce coma to protect his higher brain functions."

"Agreed," the _Voyager _EMH said. Janeway watched them, her hands tensing and relaxing. She wanted answers. She wanted the man who had done this in her brig. She wanted to do something. And listening to two identical men discuss medical treatment in identical voices was more unnerving than she had thought. Maybe the _Equinox _EMH could change uniform color or something.

Neither EMH seemed happy with what they saw. The _Equinox _EMH waved a scanner over Noah Lessing's temples. His face creased in a frown.

"A portion of his brain was destroyed by the phaser blast," he said. "Your patient?"

The _Voyager _EMH seemed surprised. "In cardiac arrest."

The _Equinox _EMH smiled grimly. "When did Mr. Lessing come on the ship?" he asked urgently.

"This morning," Janeway answered.

"Via transporter or shuttle?"

"Transporter," she answered; she'd seen it in the log.

"Then we have a chance. Captain Janeway, I need that pattern transferred down to sickbay. I'll also need you to authorize placing main computer control in my hands for just a few minutes."

Janeway blinked. Main computer control? He'd be able to activate _Voyager's _self-destruct if he wanted to. "Doctor,-" she began.

"In exchange, Captain, I'll show your EMH how to utilize the same technique to save Mr .Paris," the doctor overrode her. "Otherwise, both will die. Ask your own doctor if you don't believe me. I learned a technique or two on _Equinox –_ unorthodox but effective."

Janeway sighed. She could already hear Tuvok's protest even before he said it. "Proceed, doctor."

Transporter control was surprised to hear of this request, but complied with it. She stayed in sickbay, hoping like hell that she'd be able to shut down his program before all hell broke loose if he tried anything. Surprisingly – or perhaps not – he did not. His fingers flew rapidly over a console and back to Noah Lessing. With all of the ship's computing power at his disposal, his hands were faster than the human eye could see. She didn't have the faintest idea _what _he was doing. All she had was the vague idea that it was positive.

Finally, the _Equinox _EMH stepped away from the biobed. Noah Lessing let out a thick snort and shifted. The _Equinox _EMH nodded slowly and smiled, then stepped to Paris's bedside.

"Captain, I'll need the very latest transporter record you have on Mr. Paris," he said.

"You isolated the damaged portions of his brain and replaced them from the transporter pattern," the _Voyager _EMH said wonderingly. "I didn't think that was possible."

"Indeed. I'll need to do the same for Mr. Paris. Since he needs a new heart, it'll be much quicker." The _Equinox _EMH was all business. True to his word, he bent over Tom Paris and began to work with that same blurring speed. Watching him gave her vertigo. A few tense minutes later, he nodded, smiled, and drew himself up. "I'm finished with main computer access, Captain."

Janeway stopped and stared, a little dumbfounded by it all. This EMH had committed some of the worst crimes in the Federation. He had helped _Equinox _come damn close to destroying _Voyager. _During his time masquerading as _Voyager's _EMH, he'd ignored the calls of the sick and wounded to respond to his true masters.

Yet here, before her eyes, he had snatched two men back from the brink of death in what had seemed to be seconds.

"Excellent work, Doctor," she said archly. "You've earned that trip to Jupiter Station. I didn't realize you could do that." _I didn't think you would do that, _was what she meant to say, but she couldn't really tell him that.

"Security team to captain." The tinny voice of her combadge cut off the conversation. "Intruder spotted on Deck 12. The deck is sealed off and we are closing in."

She began to hurry, itching to know what would happen. All the same, Tuvok's security officers were too good. She was in the turbolift, wondering vaguely if she could _glare _it into going faster, when they contacted her again.

"Intruder has been neutralized. He's stunned."

She stormed through the hall to where a group of yellow-shouldered uniforms stood over a man in a teal-shouldered one. Her brow furrowed as she looked at Tom Paris's would-be murderer. He wasn't much. Reddish-blond hair, a face that was handsome but hard to remember. His eyes were closed and he looked quite peaceful.

"Bring him to the brig," Tuvok ordered.

Janeway paused. This man was a professional, of some kind. You couldn't just sneak aboard a starship and remain undetected for long, let alone invade sickbay and assassinate someone. No, there was more going on here than met the eye. This man had colleagues somewhere. Someone had helped him. She meant to find out what he knew.

But if he was a professional, he'd be trained to resist interrogation. She felt the same anger towards him she had once felt towards Noah Lessing. She wanted what he knew, and she wanted it now. Then, she'd given in to her anger, and it had cost her a price that had turned out to be rather more than she'd known. Perhaps there was another way this time.

"Belay that order," she said, and raised a hand.

"Captain?" Tuvok asked.

Janeway smiled coldly. "Trust me, Mr. Tuvok," she said cryptically. "I know what I'm doing. Listen to me very carefully. We're going to play our friend's game here...his way."


	11. Craftiness

Author's note:

Here we are with another chapter. Thanks to everyone who's read and reviewed, as always. For now, let's see the good guys get a little crafty...  
  
.The light came up slowly in his quarters. Julian Bashir blinked. It was late at night, and he wasn't used to being awoken. Was there a medical emergency? Usually they would try to raise him on the comm, or send an officer to his quarters if that failed.

He blinked again, looked, and drew in a sharp breath.

Sitting in a chair near his bed was an older man, imperially thin. He was balding and looked calm and regular, just a face in the crowd. He examined the doctor with no surprise.

"Good evening, doctor," the man said. "You and I need to talk."

Bashir sat up and stared at the man. "Who are you? One of Sloan's men?"

The man chuckled. "Actually, no. Sloan was a friend of mine, and an associate, but I never worked under him. I have a job for you, doctor, and in return I'll help you with your little problem of the sick Romulans on DS9."

Bashir sat up and felt a rage kindle in him. Men like this had no respect for anything. They tromped all over what was right and moral in the name of the Federation. "I don't work for you," he seethed. "How _dare _you? Enter my room in the middle of the night like you own it!" He glanced over at his nightstand where his combadge lay.

The man sighed. "Dr. Bashir, let me explain something to you here. I am part of Section 31, and I know of you from Sloan's notes." He shifted. "Luther...well, Luther always was a bit of a frustrated philosopher. He wanted people like you to recognize the sacrifices he made and the good he did. I, on the other hand...I'm an operations man. I take pride in a job well done, and I need you to do it now. I will not, however, put up with your self-righteous indignation right now. It wastes time." He produced a small gray phaser. It wasn't Starfleet issue, but there was little doubt as to what it was. "You're coming with me, and I have a very short job for you, and once it's done I'll discuss the issue of the Romulans and Vulcans in your sickbay with you. Now, you can get up, dress yourself, and come along like a man, or I can stun you and have you transported aboard my ship in your pajamas. It's your choice."

Bashir sighed. He ought to have kept a phaser under his pillow.

"If it makes it easier, Dr. Bashir, there _is _a young woman who requires medical attention," the man continued.

"All right," Bashir spat, throwing back the covers. He hated the way Section 31 operatives acted, using whatever they wanted – and _whoever _they wanted. A man who kept his moral compass about him was at a disadvantage against them. This man had no more compunction than Sloan, from the looks of it. There was something infuriating about it. "May I ask your name, at least?"

The man smiled icily, nothing touching his eyes. "Yes. You may call me Kilbourne, for now."

Bashir got out of bed and slipped into his uniform, glaring all the while at the Section 31 operative. He didn't look like much; balding, a plain face. But under that unassuming brow, who knew what lurked?

"Thank you, Dr. Bashir," Kilbourne said calmly. "Now, then. You won't need your combadge." He reached forward and grabbed Bashir's elbow. Bashir grunted. Kilbourne _looked _like a meek older man who wouldn't say boo to a goose. He had plenty of physical strength somewhere. Although Kilbourne looked to be about twenty years older than he was, Bashir didn't think he'd be able to physically best the other man.

The opportunity vanished as he did himself, transported to a small room. The ship reminded him vaguely of Sloan's ship. Two blackshirted security guards were waiting for them. Their phaser rifles were out, but not aimed at him. That was something.

"This way, please," Kilbourne said, and directed him to another room. This room was a bit more comfortable; the metal grating that served as a floor was carpeted, and there was a couch that Kilbourne gestured to as if he had simply invited Dr. Bashir over for a cup of coffee. He unintentionally added to the idea by ordering coffee from a replicator and politely asking if Dr. Bashir would like a cup.

Bashir shook his head.

"I assure you it's not poisoned, Dr. Bashir. I have no need to kill you or drug you."

"Then what _is _it you need me for?" Bashir asked.

Kilbourne sat down and sipped at his coffee. "There's a young woman who we are...questioning. She's resisting us. We've tried a few methods, including some unorthodox ones. She's held out longer than we want her to, and I want a medical opinion on her. How close she is to breaking."

Bashir sighed. "And I suppose Section 31 forgot the little niceties like counsel and medical treatment, which is guaranteed to prisoners."

"Yes, we did," Kilbourne admitted cheerfully. "The ship we're holding her on has an EMH, but we had to...make some modifications to him. As a result I don't trust his medical opinion anymore. All I want is...an exam. I want you to examine this woman and tell us how close she is to breaking. Blood sugar, things like that. You're the doctor, you'd know better than me."

Bashir stared at the older man with hate-rimmed eyes. "And what if I refuse?"

Kilbourne shrugged. "Dr. Bashir, I guess I should explain. For one thing, there is your own welfare to be concerned about. Luther Sloan was a great man. A hero to the Federation, and you killed him for a shapeshifter. I assure you, Dr. Bashir, there are men in Section 31 who would like to see you pay for that."

Bashir smiled craftily. "I'll take my chances," he said.

"Consider how easily _I _made it into your bedroom. If someone in Section 31 wants you dead, doctor, you _will _die. Currently Section 31's command doesn't want that to happen. I'm not in charge of everything, but....my word could sway things one way or the other." He grinned again, and for a fleeting moment Bashir could see the real Kilbourne behind the meek, unassuming mask: an insectoid man, a man born without morals or conscience, just as assuredly malformed as a man born without arms even though his deformation was not visible to the naked eye..

"Do you think I'm afraid of you?" Bashir asked, and his eyes narrowed.

Kilbourne smiled. "Actually, yes. I think I _do _scare you, doctor. I can tell by the attempts to bare your teeth, as it were. Nonetheless, you _do _realize by now that Section 31 monitors communications from all Starfleet facilities. If you attempt to work against us, we'll know about it." He smiled again. "Dr. Bashir, I assure you I can, if I want to, destroy anyone and anything you care about. That's not what I intend to do, so don't force my hand. I'm not a difficult man to please, and I don't think I'm asking you for anything unreasonable. I want you to examine a woman and tell me what you think. I further want you not to mention it to anyone. That's all I want."

Bashir took a deep breath and tried to clamp down. Kira had once told him he was too hotheaded where Section 31 was concerned. _I got the same way around the Cardassians, Julian. Get angry, that's fine. But you have to learn to clamp down on it when you need to. _It was sound advice.

It didn't take too long to reach their destination – about half an hour, he reckoned. That meant wherever they were, it wasn't far from DS9. That also meant it was probably a ship; Kilbourne wasn't lying about that. Bajor was quite close and Trill wasn't far, but Section 31 wouldn't hold a prisoner on Bajor or Trill – too much risk of recognition. There were no other planets nearby that he knew of.

Kilbourne approached him, holding a black bag in one hand. Bashir tensed, wondering if it held a weapon. Instead, Kilbourne simply dropped it over his head and cinched it at the neck. It was claustrophobic; he could smell his own fear-sweat, coppery and sharp. The hood blocked all light and muffled sound. Automatically he grabbed at it. Kilbourne sighed and grabbed his arms.

"Doctor, I'm afraid you're not cleared to see everything," he said, and sounded vaguely exasperated. "I can have you put in restraints. I'd prefer not to."

Bashir bit down on his lip. The pain helped him to focus. Kira was right; he had to learn to clamp down and wait for the best opportunity. Now was not the time. He took a few long, slow breaths through the nose to try and calm himself.

He felt the familiar tingle of beaming; how disorienting it seemed without sight! Then he could smell oil and metal. Debris crunched under his feet. He heard things clang and clatter. What type of ship was this? Kilbourne's hand held his upper arm, leading him calmly through the ship. Now, the familiar hum of a graviton lift. His ears strained for any sound that might tell him more. There was nothing. It was such a _silent _ship. Was there anyone on board? Perhaps just whoever they were holding and a few guards. Why a Starfleet ship, then? Or was it a Starfleet ship? It seemed large enough to be. Perhaps it was a holodeck, as Sloan had once held him. He could feel his heart racing. _Calm, Julian. Calm . Clamp down. Don't let your thoughts wander. Concentrate on this madman and wait for a weak point. _

Then he heard a door open. Voices inside; men's voices. Then Kilbourne pulled the hood off and he was sucking in great gusts of air, great merciful gusts uncheapened by the sweaty hood. Dr. Bashir blinked a few times and observed his dull surroundings.

The cabin was dingy and musty. Really, did Starfleet have ships _this _dirty? Two men stood nearby him, also in Starfleet uniforms. Bashir eyed them for a moment. One was blond and had rough-hewn features. The other was younger, dark-haired and eyed, watching him with an easy familiarity.

On the bunk was a young blonde woman. She appeared to be drugged or sleeping. Drugged, he decided after a moment. She would've had to be a very heavy sleeper not to wake with four men in her quarters – if they were hers. Not knowing anything was unnerving.

"Who the hell is he?" the blond man asked.

Kilbourne seemed vaguely annoyed. "As I recall," he said thinly, "you asked for a doctor to check out her medical condition. You didn't trust the EMH. I don't blame you. So... Dr. Bashir is going to give her a physical."

"Yes, sir," the other man acknowledged, "but I thought we could transport her to --," he looked again at Bashir and caught himself --, "to the other ship."

Kilbourne shrugged. "This is how we're doing it," he said.

_All right. Kilbourne is in command. The older man has captain's pips on his uniform; the younger one has commander's pips. I'd bet anything they have no rank in Starfleet, just Section 31 personnel. This blonde woman here...an ensign's pip. _He tried to commit it to memory.

"I'll need equipment," Bashir said.

Kilbourne nodded and handed him a medical tricorder. "There you are, doctor," he said blithely. "If you need anything else, I can have it transported here."

Bashir's mouth quirked. He seemed so normal, this Kilbourne. How could men like this exist in the Federation? How could they band together into Section 31 and actually wield so much power instead of ending up in prison?

He had to force himself to pay attention to his task. "Whatever you've given her, I need to wake her up," he said.

Kilbourne shook his head. "No," he said easily. "She can't see you. Whatever you can tell us while she's unconscious will be fine. I won't hold you responsible. Just tell us what you can."

Bashir sighed. "All right," he said, and held the medical tricorder close to her. She was pretty but thin. Her hair was quite long. Looking at her, he had the distinct idea he'd seen her before. But where? DS9?

That, he could check. They'd monitor his communications with Starfleet Command. He could check the station records much more safely. Very calmly, Julian Bashir leaned down and put his hand on the woman's head to steady it. If he made it too obvious, they'd see. With luck, maybe just one of those long blonde hairs would come off on his uniform. The sort of thing that had gotten husbands in trouble for millenia.

What he saw in the medical tricorder's display did not please him. He cleared his throat.

"This is...a young woman, in her late twenties or early thirties," he began uncertainly. "She went through an extended period of malnutrition, near starvation. There's some residual damage to her digestive and renal systems. She was also in an extremely stressful situation for a very long time – probably the same. Her veins show signs of chronic vasoconstriction."

Kilbourne nodded.

"Recently," Bashir said, "she hasn't been getting much to eat, and you've been drugging her."

Kilbourne nodded. "My psyops associates can give you exact doses, if you need them," he said mildy.

Bashir felt anger well up in him again and choked it back down. _Oh, sure, we'll tell you exactly how we tortured this poor soul. _"That won't be necessary," he said coolly. "Her blood-sugar levels are quite low. That might be from lack of food and might be from injections. If it is, be careful – I presume you don't want her dead." He eyed the men around him hatefully. "Poor nutrition has also left its mark. There are waste products in her blood and her systems appear sluggish. She has little bodyfat left."

"Finally," he said, "you've been applying some sort of cerebral stimulation to her. That has to stop. Now. There are signs of cell breakdown in the arteries and veins of her brain. You're fortunate she hasn't had a stroke already."

"We'll take the doctor's toys away from him," the blond man said calmly.

"The EMH?" Bashir asked pointedly.

"Yes."

"How could he--," Bashir asked.

Kilbourne interrupted him with smooth grace. "We reprogammed him. He's more of an Emergency Interrogation Hologram now."

Bashir took a moment to stare at him. If Kilbourne said _interrogation, _he likely meant _torture. _His biological goons would more than likely be up to the task of normal interrogation. Bashir hadn't ever liked the idea of a hologram taking his job, but he approved wholeheartedly of the idea of the EMH itself – an emergency hand, created solely for the purpose of healing. Somehow, the idea that these men had warped such an ideal given form into a tool for them to use did not surprise him. It did, however, enrage him.

He forced himself to clamp down. He had to. If he lost his head and raged at these men if he wanted to, they would kill him. The woman, too, after they had whatever they wanted from her.

"I can't tell you any more without waking her up," he said. "I _can _tell you that physically, she's at the end of her rope. Poor food, drugs, low blood sugar....she's got very little left to draw on." His lips twisted. "From here on out, it's largely a question of psychology. Since she's undergone stressful situations before, so she may have the spirit to hold out." He grinned coolly. For no real reason he could think of, he hoped she did. Although he could tell from the medical displays – it was just a matter of time.

Kilbourne seemed pleased. "All right, then, doctor," he said. "Thank you."

The suffocating bag went back on Dr. Bashir's head. He didn't fight it. He wanted very badly to touch his sleeve to see if he had been successful in his private mission, but he dared not. Not until this lunatic brought him back to the station and left.

He didn't speak. Not moving through the destroyed ship to the transporter room, and not once he was back on Kilbourne's far more comfortably equipped ship. He eyed Kilbourne slowly, contemptuously, letting the Section 31 operative know exactly what he thought of him without words. The silence in the room was heavy and charged, but it didn't bother Bashir at all.

Surprisingly, it did seem to have some effect. Kilbourne eyed him over a coffee cup.

"Oh, don't take on so hard, doctor," he said. "The woman _is _a criminal. Don't let that pretty face fool you. She committed some of the worst crimes the Federation recognizes."

"No one deserves to be treated like that," Bashir said simply. "I...doubt you'll understand."

Kilbourne shrugged. "I don't need your approval, doctor. I'll live without it. Oh, and by the way, we've taken the liberty of removing the corpses, and your research into their deaths, from your sickbay. I can tell you this, though. Scrub down the entire sickbay and anywhere those victims were with strong disinifectant, wait seventy-two hours, and DS9 can be cleared for Vulcans and Romulans again."

Bashir leaned forward. His eyes narrowed. "You," he breathed.

"I'm not saying anything more, doctor," Kilbourne said. "Well, here we are." He gestured for Bashir to follow him to the transporter room. It seemed like bare moments until he was back in his own room, staring at his bed.

"Have a good night," Kilbourne said. "And remember...mum's the word." He drew a finger across his throat in a gesture that was supposed to be funny but wasn't. "I assure you, security logs will show nothing. Why bother?" Then he vanished in a glow of sparking light and was gone.

Julian Bashir let out a long, slow breath. Then another. And another. He closed his eyes. _Clamp down. Clamp down. _He felt his racing heart slow, his anger still. And then he turned over his sleeve.

Clinging to his lower arm was a long blonde strand.

Bashir smiled. "You're not as smart a bastard as you think you are, Mr. Kilbourne," he said, and headed for his sickbay.

* * *

Being stunned was a miserable experience. At first he was simply unconscious. Waking up from a phaser stun was a slow process. At first his senses came back very slowly. Sound was mushy; sight was blurred. Muscles would not obey his mind's commands to move.

Benning was surprised when the world came back into sharp focus and he could move again. He had expected to wake up in the brig. But no, he was where he had fallen. A group of security guards had him covered with their phasers. Why had they just stood around? It made little sense.

Kathryn Janeway strode up to him, flanked by _Voyager's _security chief. Benning knew her; he'd memorized the entire command crew of _Voyager. _It took a moment for the black Vulcan's name to come. Tuvok, that was it.

She eyed him coldly. He looked right back at her, letting her know he was unafraid. Working in Federation space was easy; under Starfleet regulations she had to inform the Vulcan civil authorities of his capture, and word would get back to Section 31. Once it did, he was as good as free.

It was annoying to be caught by Starfleet. He wouldn't be able to track _Voyager _any more. Even so, this project was big. Big enough that he could be assured of a future in Section 31.

"All right," she said coolly, looking him over. "I want your name, and I want to know what the hell you're doing on my ship."

Benning cleared his throat. "My name is Commander Peter Savage," he said. "Starfleet Intelligence."

She stopped and stared at him hatefully. "You're lying," she said.

Benning smiled and shrugged. "If you say so. I request to speak with counsel and make a few communications, as is my right under the Federation Constitution."

Janeway chuckled. "All in good time. I'm afraid our communications are down. Perhaps while we wait we could discuss a mutual acquaintance of ours. Marla Gilmore. She served on my ship. You know her; I saw you stuff her into a van outside of the Starfleet Justice Annex."

Benning paused. Was Janeway smarter than that? Interesting. Section 31 had the ability to discredit Starfleet officers who were deemed too dangerous. He might be able to get her that way once this was over.

"Never heard of her. I do have rights," he replied. "Including the right to remain silent, which I choose to use at this time."

Janeway chuckled. "Have it your way," she said. "You'll remain silent in my brig, then." A gesture at her security guards got them ready. Benning got to his feet. One guard thumped him on the back.

"Keep your hands where we can see them," he admonished.

That didn't bother Benning. Spy holonovels aside, he didn't have any spy gadgets on him. They weren't useful for most missions. They'd gotten his phaser, but he had expected that. Even bare-handed, he could do a lot of damage to a human body in a short amount of time.

His thoughts were coming more quickly. Janeway walked blithely ahead of him, confident in her phalanx of security officers to keep her safe. She'd ID'ed him as the man who had packaged Marla Gilmore. She knew a lot, or could put the pieces together. Did she have anything else? He doubted it; _Voyager's _computers would need to work for fifty years before cracking the encryption on his messages.

He went along peaceably. For now, he had to wait. Would the security drones be lulled? He thought they might. Were their weapons on stun or kill? He stole a glance at the one next to him. Stun. For a moment he wanted to laugh. What sort of idiots were they? Didn't they realize what they were up against?

Tuvok and one other officer were flanking Janeway. Their backs were to him. They could safely be disregarded. There were two beside him – one on either side -- and one or two behind him. Four. He'd need an opportunity.

He walked with them, his head down, acting meek and somber. If they thought they'd won, it would make his next move easier. One of the guards adopted a more casual grip on his weapon. Benning blinked once, sealing it into his memory. Now he needed an opportunity. Somewhere where the hallway curved, preferably; it would buy him a second or two more to drop Tuvok and his buddies.

They arrived at the turbolift. Benning took a breath. Here was his opportunity. They herded him into the turbolift. He tensed. It was now or never.

He grabbed the phaser rifle of the guard nearest him. Quickly, without missing a beat, he pressed the firing stud. A golden beam leaped from the rifle, stunning the guard. Benning shifted the phaser to kill and continued firing.

A few of them got their weapons up, but he was quicker. They dropped like ninepins. Benning smiled grimly, stepping over bodies without a second thought. Tuvok had a phaser on him and was preparing to fire. Benning fired first. The Vulcan dropped without a word.

Now there was only Janeway. Her face was turning from smug to horror. He was armed; she wasn't. Everything else was secondary. He smiled coldy and pressed the trigger. _Voyager's _brave captain fell dead to the deck.

Benning sprinted out of the turbolift, not caring who saw him. Operational security was already blown. He had to get off this ship. Crewmen saw him as he passed, and he heard a few shouts and calls for security. Not that it would matter; a whole mess of security guards were already dead.

He could hear his own panting breath and felt adrenaline charge him. Free! He was free! He'd taken down six security guards and a captain. Not too shabby. He'd get some heat for killing Starfleet's biggest hero, but it would die down eventually. For now, though, he had to get away. At the least, _Voyager _would be far too delayed from the imbroglio to do anything about Project Sling. Chakotay and his officers would be too busy testifying to Starfleet Boards of Inquiry to ask questions about Marla Gilmore.

He made it into the shuttlebay and dropped the crewman at Ops without a second thought. How many had he killed now? He couldn't remember. It was a simple matter to get into a shuttle and send the signal to open the bay doors. His hands twitched. The doors began to open much too slowly. For a long moment he thought about helping them along with a photon torpedo.

The majestic view of space opened before him, and Benning piloted the shuttle out into the inky blackness. The comm flashed, but he ignored it. As a precaution, he raised shields and went to warp, streaking away from the starship.

He let the beautiful miracle of warp drive carry him away for a few moments. Craning his neck, he examined the instruments. _Voyager _was not pursuing. Perhaps they'd realized Captain Janeway was dead. All the better.

He took a few deep breaths and made himself calm down. Then he plotted a course for Bajor. A shuttle wouldn't be the most comfortable ride there, but it would do. Kilbourne had to know what happened. In a way, it would be a good thing; Starfleet would be too tied up with the _Voyager _debacle to notice when Project Sling and Project Stone went into effect.

An alert sounded. Benning's head whipped to and fro, seeking the source of the problem.

"Warning," the computer said. "Hull breach imminent."

_What the-? _There was nothing wrong that he could see. Everything looked fine. Then, he saw a large crack develop in the roof of the shuttle. Benning rose and scrambled for the back, where an emergency spacesuit might save him. The crack grew larger and larger, letting in the darkness of space.

How the hell had this happened? He grabbed the spacesuit out of the locker, already knowing it was too late. Air hissed out of the crack in the hull, and--

"Computer, end program."

The voice was female and familiar. The darkness was gone, replaced by a room with gunmetal walls and silver gridwork along them. Benning looked around and saw Captain Kathryn Janeway standing behind him, flanked by four security guards. All of them had their phaser rifles centered on him.

Janeway smiled coolly. "All right," she said. "Now you really _are _going to the brig. And I assure you our security officers are quite aware of proper procedure. One false move, and they'll stun you and drag you to the brig. It's your choice."

Benning realized how he had been fooled. All right, he'd have to make sure Janeway's file with Section 31 was updated. She could be sneaky.

"A holodeck," he said.

"Yes. Much like the one you're holding Marla Gilmore in, if my guess is right."

It was his turn to smile. "It isn't," he said.

"Tell me where she is. Make it easier on yourself. I've got you dead to rights."

He shook his head. "I can't tell you that," he said mildly.

Janeway exhaled. "Somehow, I knew you were going to say that," she said. "Obviously this is a professional operation. You won't answer questions. Have it your way. You answered my questions through your actions. You set a course to Bajor; there must be some answers there."

Benning tensed. Yes, Janeway was craftier than he'd thought. He tilted his head.

"Why risk all this for Marla Gilmore, captain?" he asked politely. "Your orders are to remain on Vulcan, then continue on your tour. You're not going to risk everything for a _criminal, _are you?"

Janeway stopped and eyed him.

"She's not part of your crew anymore," he continued. "She's not part of Starfleet anymore. She created an engine that ran off the bodies of living beings. She helped attack your ship. Caused several of your crew to die. You're not only wasting your time opposing us. You're throwing away your career and those of everyone on this ship."

Janeway chuckled. "It'll sound simplistic to you, I suppose," she said. "You're not a starship captain. You've never felt the weight of all those souls on your shoulders." She took a step forward. "Keep your shirt tucked in, go down with the ship...and never leave a crew member behind. It worked well enough to get me through the Delta Quadrant." Still, she was thinking about something. That was good.

She turned to Tuvok. "Take him to the brig," she directed. "If he makes any funny moves, you have my authorization to stun him and drag him there."

Tuvok nodded and gestured. "Come along, please."

Benning had no choice, so he went. The real security officers were far better than their holographic counterparts. There were never less than four phaser rifles trained on him, and usually more.

Once in the brig, he sat down on the bunk and waited. That was all he could do, for now.

Kathryn Janeway waited until they'd taken the intruder away. Tuvok could take care of identifying and interrogating him. His last words did mean something to her, though. She headed up to her readyroom and got Chakotay on the comm.

"Chakotay," she said. "I want all of the Maquis in my readyroom. As quickly as you can."

"Aye, captain," he said.

Chakotay was as good as his word. In short order, all of the Maquis had been summoned to her readyroom and stood in a ragged line, waiting.

Janeway took a deep breath and looked them over. This crew had earned their redemption. They might not like what she was going to say, but she couldn't force them to shoulder the burden they would be asked to pay.

"I have decided...," she began, and trailed off. "As some of you know, a former crewman of _Voyager _has gone missing. Certain...artifacts from our journey in the Delta Quadrant were stolen. The point is that I am going to...overlook certain Starfleet protocols."

Her eyes flicked to B'Elanna, then Chakotay. B'Elanna had been Marla's commanding officer. Their relationship had been rocky; B'Elanna had taken a long time to warm to a crewman who had been part of an attack on their ship. As time passed, she'd come around a bit, but forgiveness wasn't a trait she had in great measure.

Chakotay had been different, too. He'd occasionally put in a good word for the _Equinox _crew, arguing that marginalizing them would not serve anyone's purpose. Now she wished she'd listened to him a bit earlier.

But this much was not about Marla Gilmore or any of her _Equinox _crewmembers; this was about her Maquis. They'd served her loyally throughout seven years. They deserved better than the Federation was giving them. They seemed amused to hear that their captain was actually thinking of ignoring Starfleet rules for once.

"All of you are currently under the court's supervision," she continued. "You are free...on bail, as it were. I'm quite aware of the situation you all are in. Therefore, I have decided to have you remain here, on Vulcan. Vulcan civil authorities will be able to vouch that you are not intending to flee the court's jurisdiction."

She could sense a wave of anger at that. B'Elanna scowled visibly. Chakotay simply closed his eyes for a moment and scanned his crew carefully. For several moments no one spoke.

"You're...leaving us behind?" B'Elanna demanded.

Janeway held up a hand. "B'Elanna, I know. You just had a baby. You've been in jail for two months. I can't ask you to risk more time in jail....," she was about to say _over an Equinox crewman, _but bit down on the words.

B'Elanna took a moment to compose herself, which surprised Janeway a bit. The half-Klingon engineer had always been hotheaded. But she could see the struggle on B'Elanna's face

"You're right," B'Elanna said finally. "I don't want to go to jail. I don't want to lose any more time with my baby. But one day, she's going to be old enough to ask me questions. And I'll be damned if I'm going to tell her that when the going got tough, Mommy sat back and played tiddlywinks with the Vulcan Science Academy." She folded her arms. "We all know what this is about. Gilmore was my crewman, too," she said stubbornly. "I didn't like what she did. I probably never will. I don't know if I can ever look at her the same way I look at other crew. But if you're going after her, I'm in."

Chakotay took a step forward. "We all appreciate the offer, Captain.. But remember. Once, some people in Starfleet uniforms decided that certain little people didn't matter. The result--," he gestured at the rest of the crew – "was the Maquis. We stood up for the little people. The ones who the Federation decided didn't matter. I think I speak for everyone here when I say that we'll continue that fight. Yes, Marla Gilmore got her walking papers from Starfleet. Yes, she was part of some terrible things aboard the _Equinox. _But now someone else has decided they want her enhanced warp device, and they want _her_, and they've done things just as bad as she ever did, without the mitigating circumstances. If we look the other way for our own convenience...if we settle into guest quarters on Vulcan just so we don't have to go to jail...then just what exactly were we fighting for? We'd be just as bad, deciding that some little people don't matter. I have to look myself in the mirror every day. I'll take the chance of jail." He shook his head. "Besides, you know, Starfleet protocol forbids you from leaving dock without a first officer. I'm staying right here."

Janeway sighed. She'd suspected this. The only way to get Chakotay to stay on Vulcan while the rest of the crew went off to Bajor would've had to involve restraints and security officers and force fields. It was part of why she secretly loved him.

"The offer is open," she said. "I assure you...I will think no less of anyone who elects to stay behind. You have always served this ship loyally. You deserve better than you're getting. Anyone who wants to stay behind, step forward now."

Her Maquis crew looked at each other. Then at Chakotay. Then at her. Then, almost in unison, they simultaneously took one step.

One step _back. _

A sense of quiet pride infused her. She smiled. "Very well, then. Wish us all luck...in whatever fleet we end up serving."

It was with a new sense of purpose that she bounded onto her bridge and assumed her seat. The Maquis crewmen filed out to man their posts. She waited a moment.

"Mr. Paris," she ordered crisply. "Lay in a course for Bajor. Maximum warp. Mr. Kim, if any Starfleet vessels hail us, advise them we're going to see a sick little Bajoran girl who wanted to see the crew of _Voyager." _

Harry blinked, then smiled. "Uh,...is that true, Captain?"

"Sure it is," Janeway said. "Do you know Tal Celes? I saw her in the messhall this morning. Her cousin has...well, I guess it's the Bajoran equivalent of chicken pox."

The ship set about preparing to depart from Vulcan. Chakotay smiled at her tightly.

"You're sure you want to do this?" he asked in a low voice.

Janeway nodded. "It's time to bring our prodigal daughter home."


	12. Gathering

_Author's note: Another chapter. Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed; I'm glad you like this little tale. _

_Katharina-B: Is this story going to be J/C? It depends on what you mean by J/C.. There won't be any sex scenes or 'heaving white bosoms' romance or copious amounts of goo between the Captain and First Officer, but like anyone who watched the show I did notice the sparks crackling off the bulkheads. So there will be a little bit thrown in for seasoning, but it won't be at the forefront. _

_Of47: Glad you like the story. The Stargate author is someone other than me. I've never written anything Stargate; I don't even think I've seen that movie all the way through. _

_ JadziaKathryn: Yep, Janeway can be sneaky in a tactical sense, and she's got a few tricks remaining up her sleeve. Stay tuned._

Under normal circumstances, reaching Bajor would have taken about a week. Normal circumstances required starships in Federation space to go no faster than warp five. Only with Starfleet Command's permission could that limit be exceeded.

These were not normal circumstances. Janeway had ordered a course at warp nine. She'd been used to living without that regulation in the Delta Quadrant. What was Starfleet going to do? Give her a speeding ticket?

Even at warp nine, Bajor was three days away. She had been surprised to be hailed early on the third morning by a runabout, heading towards _Voyager _at _their _maximum warp. She had been more surprised to discover its occupants: Colonel Kira Nerys and Dr. Julian Bashir, both assigned to Deep Space Nine.

They'd said they could help but refused to reveal much over comms. Instead, they wanted to meet her aboard her ship. She'd been suspicious; after all, she already had one would-be saboteur in her brig.

Now they were in her readyroom, waiting a moment as _Voyager's _command crew filed in. Janeway took a healthy pull at her coffee and studied them. Bashir was a tall, handsome man. A little prissy, she thought. Still, his liquid eyes stared burningly at her as if he had something he desperately wanted to tell her.

Colonel Kira was different. Janeway got the idea that Kira Nerys knew a great deal about keeping her mouth shut. She knew the concept; command wasn't easy. She simply waited and watched, her eyes on Janeway's own.

_Can I trust these people? Are they working with us or are they working against us? Why would they care anything about Marla Gilmore? _

The rest of the command crew filed in and took their seats. Janeway swept an eye around. _There's B'Elanna and Seven...it looks like everyone else is here. _

She cleared her throat. "Good morning," she said crisply. "As you know, early this morning we had some visitors. I'd like to introduce Colonel Kira Nerys of the Bajoran military, and Dr. Julian Bashir." She nodded to Kira, who cleared her throat and got up.

"Good morning, everyone," she said. "As Captain Janeway said, I'm Colonel Kira, the commander of Deep Space Nine."

"I thought that was Ben Sisko's command," Janeway mused.

Kira's lips pursed. "It was," she said after a moment.

Janeway felt momentarily like an idiot. "I'm sorry," she said, realizing the Bajoran's meaning. "I didn't know he'd...,"

Kira's lips pressed together. "It's complicated."

"He was a good man," Janeway said.

Kira nodded tightly. "The best," she said, her tone short. "Dr. Bashir has briefed me on certain things that happened on the station a few nights ago. We...may be able to help."

She eyed Janeway carefully for a moment, sizing her up. The idea occurred to Janeway that Kira was not sure if she could trust _her_, either.

"Dr. Bashir?" Janeway prompted.

Bashir got up and looked around the crew. "Approximately eight years ago," he began, "a _Nova-_class vessel docked at the station. Their crew was given shore leave. One of their engineers was at Quark's bar and cut her hand on a glass." He smiled tightly. "Quark had bought them cheaply. At any rate, she reported to the station's sickbay, and I repaired the cut. It wasn't a big deal then."

"And who was that?' Janeway asked.

Bashir watched her for a moment, clearly wondering if he could trust her or not. Finally, he swallowed visibly. "Her name was Marla Gilmore of the _USS Equinox." _

"Perhaps you _can_ help us," Janeway observed.

"Captain, I assure you...we're not here to do anything but that. Have you ever heard of a group called Section 31?"

The name meant nothing to Janeway. "I'm afraid not."

Chakotay seemed thoughtful. "I have," he said. She glanced over at him and frowned. He held up a hand. "It was when I was in the Maquis. Occasionally we'd get supplies – weapons, ship parts – things we had trouble getting on our own. I never heard too much about it – I didn't handle the logistics end of things."

Kira leaned forward. "You were in the Maquis?" she asked, and seemed interested.

Chakotay nodded. "Many of us on this ship were," he said.

Kira seemed pleased somehow. "Seems we have things in common," she said enigmatically. Janeway tried to remember what she knew of the Bajoran woman. She'd fought in the Bajoran resistance. That was probably it. She would approve of a fellow warrior against the Cardassians.

"So Section 31 provided covert assistance to the Maquis?" Janeway asked. "I'm sorry, I don't see the relevance of--,"

"Captain Janeway," Bashir said softly, "they may have _done _that, but that's not what they are. Please...I can see you have doubts. I can tell by the look on your face." He stretched his hands out to the crew in an imploring gesture that would've seemed hammy if it had not been so serious.

"Section 31 is the Federation's secret police," he said. "The Federation's equivalent of the Tal Shiar or the Obsidian Order. They are _very _dangerous. They tried to kill our friend Odo. Their mission is to identify threats to the Federation and...deal with them. They have no morals, and they answer to no one. We've had dealings with them before. They're ruthless, and they have backing in Starfleet. Captain, please...we're not here to misdirect you. "

Janeway took a moment to absorb that. The idea was abhorrent to her. An agency that answered to no one? Then they could do anything they wanted. That was not the Federation she had sworn to defend. She shook her head.

"The Federation doesn't condone things like that," she said slowly.

Kira smiled coolly. "Oh, yes, they do," she said. "They kidnap. They murder. They create diseases. We know. We've seen it."

As horrifying as the idea was, it _did _make sense. Someone had managed to kidnap Marla Gilmore, steal from her ship, secrete an intruder aboard her ship. The logical scientist that she was could see the links between what had already happened and what they were telling her. The morally upstanding idealist that she was could not abide the idea.

"And...you believe this group...kidnapped Marla Gilmore?" she asked.

Bashir nodded. "A few nights ago one of their operatives – a man calling himself Kilbourne – kidnapped me from my quarters and brought me to a small ship." His eyes burned at her. "Marla Gilmore was on that ship, along with a blond man wearing captain's pips, a dark-haired man wearing commander's pips, and a bald black man. I know it was her. I managed to sneak back a hair, which matched her medical record on the station."

Janeway tilted her head. Ransom? Burke? But they were _dead. _Not even a Federation secret police – and her mind still had problems accepting the idea of such a thing – could bring back the dead. Noah Lessing was recuperating a few decks below her, in quarters near sickbay. He would recover, but he wasn't going to be leaving _Voyager _anytime soon.

"She was unconscious. They brought me there to examine her. I believe she was being interrogated. Section 31 did the same thing to me, in a holodeck aboard their ship. Perhaps it _was _a holodeck, I wasn't sure. She is in their hands. What we don't know is why." He stood and stretched out his hands imploringly again to the crew of _Voyager. _"As a doctor, I can tell you she is in poor condition – underfed, drugged. They're using some sort of cerebral stimulator on her. If she remains in that situation much longer the damage will be irreversible. She's your crewman; she's my patient. We _must _work together," Bashir continued.

Colonel Kira watched Janeway for a moment. Janeway found herself noting the differences between the two. Bashir was overly emotional, but he seemed on the level. Kira was a cooler customer. She would have her own secrets and not give them up so easily. But the outraged idealist in her own makeup found it easy to sympathize with Dr. Bashir.

"Captain, that's all we've got," Kira said. "We've put our cards on the table. How about you?"  
Janeway nodded slowly. "Marla Gilmore did serve on the _Equinox. _We found it in the Delta Quadrant. She, along with four others, was transferred to _Voyager _when the _Equinox _was destroyed."

"But what does she have that Section 31 would want? Who destroyed _Equinox?" _Bashir seemed almost comically urgent.

Janeway sighed. "More or less, _we _destroyed _Equinox. _They were performing criminal experiments on alien life forms. Their captain, Rudy Ransom, had found a way to create...fuel from the corpses. The result was an...enhanced warp device capable of great speeds.. She redesigned the warp core to use the new fuel."

Bashir made a face. Kira seemed unaffected.

"I understand, also," Janeway said archly, "that Deep Space Nine is currently under quarantine," she said. "Is Section 31 responsible for that, too?"

Bashir exhaled. "Probably. The disease affects Vulcans and Romulans. It's quite deadly. " He waved a PADD. "I have some information here on it. Suffice it to say that it's extremely virulent and almost always fatal. Section 31 knows about it, even if they didn't engineer it themselves. They told me to scrub down the sickbay with strong disinfectant. They have created diseases before. I can't prove it. Believe me, I wish I could."

Kira paused and appeared thoughtful. "So...do we know what their purpose is?"

Bashir looked over at her. "Another Section 31 operative named Sloan once told me that they had identified the Romulans as the next likely threat to the Federation."

Tuvok cleared his throat. "If that is the case, then I have a likely theory as to what they intend to do with it. If I may, Captain?"

Janeway nodded hurriedly. "Of course."

Tuvok rose and walked over to the LCARS panel. His fingers nimbly skipped over its controls as he entered something. A display of the Romulan Neutral Zone appeared on the display, indicating Romulan defenses.

"Currently, there is no proof for this theory," he began. "Nor will there be, if Section 31 has done their job properly. Nonetheless, it does fit the facts."

He gestured. "The Romulans are aware of any Starfleet vessel that comes close to the Neutral Zone. On their side of the border, they have heavy fortifications. We do not know everything about Romulan frontier defenses, but there is sufficient known information from which to construct a hypothesis."

He indicated the Romulan patrol ships and sensor arrays. "The current theory is that the Romulans monitor Starfleet space to a point of five light years on our side of the Neutral Zone. If a fleet was massing, they would have knowledge of it three hours beforehand. Even in a worst-case scenario, they would have half an hour's notice even at maximum warp. Romulan border defenses are capable of being brought to full operational capacity within fifteen minutes."

He created an icon of a small ship on the Federation side of the border.

"We know that Ms. Gilmore's enhanced warp device was built, and has been tested, only on a _Nova-_class starship. We also know that the _Nova _class shared certain design parameters with the _Defiant _class. A _Defiant _class starship can be, and has been, cloaked. It is not unreasonable to assume that a _Nova-_class ship can be, as well. Cloaked Klingon ships have, with great care, made it to Romulus undetected before. Therefore we know a cloaked vessel can pierce the Romulan security net."

"The _Nova _class is a science vessel. It is unlikely the Romulan Star Empire would consider one to be a great threat even if they did notice one nearby. Romulus itself is not far from the Neutral Zone."

He did some quick calculations. "Captain Ransom's confession contained the fact that they had traveled ten thousand light-years in less than two weeks. If we assume that fact to be correct, then...,"

Janeway found herself vaguely irked; she had thought his vile experiments only gave him a slight boost. Perhaps she'd been mistaken. It didn't matter now. Tuvok had a fine strategic mind; he knew what he was doing. His tactical sense was rarely off.

He stepped away from the panel.

"Assume a start point five light-years from the beginning of the Neutral Zone. Let us also assume that the vessel possesses a cloaking device. I cannot now conjecture of any other way it would get past Romulan security forces. The atmospheric sampling equipment on a _Nova-_class vessel could easily be modified to spread a virus through the atmosphere. I assume sixty seconds for that, and it could be less. These figures are assumptions, but...,"

He pressed a single button. The ship icon described a straight shot for Romulus. It then turned and headed for another planet, then another, and finally a fourth. Then it returned to Federation space. Everyone in the room observed the panel with wide eyes.

Tuvok's voice was dry. "My figures are merely assumptions, and thus may be subject to error. Nonetheless, a ship equipped with enhanced warp would be able to attack Romulus, the three largest Romulan colony planets, and return to Federation space in twelve minutes, thirty-six seconds."

Janeway stared at the panel in open horror. "A sneak attack. They'd never have a chance," she breathed. "What if they simply attacked Romulus itself?"

"A viable strategic option. An attack on Romulus itself could be accomplished in two minutes, forty-three seconds."

"The plan is efficient." That was Seven. "The Romulans would certainly detect the presence of mutagenic particles. They would be unlikely to detect them until _after _the attack had taken place. By that time it would be far too late."

Bashir stared at the screen and then flinched in nausea. "And a few days later, millions...perhaps billions of Romulans start dying. Leaving the Federation triumphant in the quadrant."

"I should emphasize, Captain," Tuvok said. "This is not proof. This is merely a theory which happens to fit the facts we have, along with reasonable conjecture."

Janeway stood and tottered a moment. Could anyone connected with the Federation do _this? _Her Federation? The idea was almost impossible to grasp. This was a war crime of such magnitude it boggled her mind and made the coffee in her stomach turn sour to even think of it. If she'd doubted Bashir and Kira before, she couldn't now. They looked as horrified as her crew did.

"No, Tuvok," she managed through numb lips. "I don't even want to take the chance that you're wrong."

Even if Tuvok had a _chance _of being right, she had to stop this. Marla Gilmore was the key to it all. It wasn't just about her anymore; it was about the lives of billions of innocent beings. Janeway glanced over at Chakotay. He looked as pale as she'd ever seen him.

"We can't let this happen," he said simply. His eyes held hers for a moment, adding the silent phrase _and I know you won't. _She sighed. He'd always been a source of strength for her. Right now she needed it.

"We won't," she said resolutely, and stood. "Chakotay, please see that Dr. Bashir and Colonel Kira are given appropriate quarters. For now you'll have to stay on _Voyager. _I may need you. After that, report to the bridge."

They nodded. The bridge crew filed out to take their positions. Tom relieved the ensign at the helm and glanced over at her.

"Take us to warp nine point five," she ordered. "Harry, if anyone hails us, _don't answer. _If anyone gets in our way, we may have to open fire. It depends how deep this Section 31's influence runs in Starfleet."

In a way, it was nice to have a name for her enemy. That was easily drowned out by the horror they had seen in the readyroom. The thought of something like that happening made her ill. An image arose in her mind; piles of corpses ten meters high littering Romulus, while men like the one in her brig cheered and celebrated.

Marla was the key. They'd kidnapped her to build them an enhanced warp device. They needed that device to pull off their attack. Had she built it for them already? Was a small, unassuming _Nova-_class ship already surveying some planet not far from the Neutral Zone?

The answer occurred to her even as she sat in her chair and watched the stars streak by. No. They'd brought Dr. Bashir in to examine her, and they'd been drugging her and doing God only knew what else to her. They wouldn't be doing that if she was cooperating. There wouldn't be any reason.

Had Marla Gilmore made the right choice this time? How much longer could she hold out? Had she recovered her morals, or would she give in as she had before?

She tapped her combadge. "Janeway to--," she cut herself off, remembering Seven wanted to use her human name now. "Janeway to Hansen."

"Go ahead."

"Can you use the Astrometrics lab to detect the presence of a _Nova-_class ship?"

Seven took a moment to answer. "I can adjust Astrometics sensors to seek out the standard warp signature of such a vessel," she said archly. "I will also seek out the warp signature of the _Equinox._"

"Do it. Keep me posted," Janeway ordered. She turned to Tom. "Mr. Paris, I've changed my mind. Bring us to warp nine point seven five."

"Aye, captain," Tom said, and keyed in the change. Under his breath, he added, "Yee-ha."

Janeway smiled despite herself, knowing she hadn't been meant to hear it. Then she remembered her purpose, and her stomach clenched. For a moment she considered the grim facts. She'd once considered Marla Gilmore to be stained like the rest of the _Equinox _crew. A mass murderer who had sold out her principles in the name of her own survival. Now, it wasn't about the lives of the scattered survivors of one _Nova-_class ship; billions of lives hung in the balance of Marla Gilmore's morality. Had Marla learned from the example of _Voyager _as well as _Equinox? _For that matter, could she – could _anyone –_ hold out in the hands of experienced and pitiless interrogators?

"Keep holding out, Marla," she whispered to her absent crewman. "Just a little bit longer. The cavalry's on its way."

* * *

She couldn't take much more of this. 

Rudy had been true to his word. For the past three days, she'd been confined to her quarters. 'Reduced rations', too, was a threat that was carried out. On other ships, reduced rations would have been a punishment on the mid-range of things. A crewman on reduced rations would typically be fed something tasteless and meager; they might feel hunger but not suffering. Basic nutrition was there, though. On _Equinox, _where rations were often meager or completely nonexistent, it meant something else. For the past few days, she'd been given a tray with a scoopful of tasteless mush. That was it.

It was worse knowing that for once, _Equinox _had food. She'd heard crewmembers pass by her quarters talking excitedly of it. Burke had parked himself outside her door with whatever sort of barbecued meat they'd gotten. The smell had been wonderful and torturous at the same time. She had lain down on her bunk, cramming her face into her pillow to try and muffle that sadistically glorious smell.

That was Burke, and she had learned to expect little things like that from him. Noah had been sort of reclusive; he hadn't come by very often. Perhaps he was afraid of Rudy. She was a little hurt that he hadn't supported her, but there were far and greater problems.

Rudy was the hardest. He would occasionally come in, his craggy face troubled and sympathetic. He wasn't overtly cruel to her; his cruelty took a different course than Burke's petty torments. He would ask her to obey his orders so that he could set her free. He told her how he understood how hard it was, how none of them liked what they were doing. He was very good, she had to give him that. He knew her weak points. She'd always been the quiet, responsible one. She'd always done what she was told. She'd always striven for the approval of her captain. Her time on _Voyager _had been a terrible punishment because she didn't have it and knew she never would get it.

She tried to sleep. Sleep had always been the best physician on _Equinox. _Their EMH had been a prototype, and his medical skills left a bit to be desired. But sleep offered her no rest; terrible visions invaded her mind and she woke up sweating and more exhausted then when she'd first gone to sleep.

She felt awful. Her bunk was a nightmare factory, but there were times she could barely muster the strength to rise from it. Her arms were lead. Her legs were brass. The world spun when she tried to stand. Sometimes it would fade out for her entirely and she would find herself on the floor of her cold, dank quarters.

In some dim corner of her mind, she knew it shouldn't be this way. Marla Gilmore knew a great deal more about going without food than she ever would've wanted to know. You felt spinny, and dizzy, yes, but not like this. Something was wrong. Something was wrong with _all _of this.

But for the most part, she was cold, hungry, exhausted, and heartsick. Her reserves were exhausted; she had nothing left to draw on. She couldn't explain why it was that she still refused to build the device. Eventually, she would cave. She had caved before, obeying Rudy's orders with only an attempt to avoid thinking about how it would be used.

In the memories that she could still muster, she could remember Seven restrained on a table, with the EMH above her, singing with macabre glee as he prepared to open up her head and pull...something out of her brain. Marla couldn't remember what it had been. She did remember a sort of horrified admiration for the former Borg. She'd been so brave, refusing to the last to give Rudy the codes.

Somehow, she wanted to be like that.

But Seven apparently had a bravery implant that Marla did not have. The spirit was willing, but the flesh was weak. Even the spirit had taken a beating, when you came down to it. Eventually, she knew she would give in. Despair did it. _Equinox _knew Despair quite well. It might not be on the roster, but it was surely there, walking the battered decks with the crew. Rudy might be captain, but Despair ruled even over him. Once, _Equinox _had tried to play by the rules for as long as they could, but Despair had convinced them otherwise. It hadn't been good enough for Captain Janeway.

With what seemed the last of her strength, Marla rolled over on her bunk and stared at the battered, scarred ceiling. Her vision fuzzed in and out with her heartbeat. Her stomach rolled and retched and screamed for food. More than anything, she just wanted it to be over.

"Uhhh...if anyone is out there," she mumbled, "I've tried...really...I've tried...everyone here hates me now...I don't want to kill anyone anymore...but I can't do this anymore. If you're out there...please...help me. I can't do this myself anymore."

She wasn't sure to whom her plea was addressed. Rudy? Captain Janeway? Starfleet Command? Q? God? It didn't matter. She had no more strength to carry on. The Borg were right; resistance _was _futile.

She'd tried. She'd held out as long as she could. Did that mean anything? She hoped, somehow, that it did. Someone, somewhere, ought to see that she'd tried.

Her eyes drifted closed and she slipped into a hazy state somewhere between shock and sleep. The sound of her door opening pulled her out of it. She looked over and blinked slowly. Rudy stood there, observing her without a word. His expression was pulled in and guarded.

"Marla," he said gruffly.

She rolled away from him in a last futile gesture. He crossed the room and sat at the foot of her bed. She couldn't bear to meet his eyes. She hated that feeling. She was unworthy. A disappointment.

"Marla, please. Listen to me. Do you think this is easy for me? I hate seeing you like this. I can't understand why you persist in fighting me." He leaned over her and put a fatherly hand on her shoulder.

"Rudy, I...I just can't," she said.

"I could understand that if we were killing any more aliens. We're not. We've got everything ready to go. If you feel sorry for those aliens, at least let their deaths mean something."

Oh, he was good. He didn't taunt the way he sometimes did. He sounded calm, rational, and understanding. He wanted to help her. He wanted to give her a positive way to look at it. And damn if he couldn't come up with a counter for every defense she might raise.

"Mean what?" she asked. She supposed she ought to come up with something better. A heroine in a holodeck novel would have. Seven would have. But her mind was simply too foggy and dense to provide much.

"A way home for us," he said. "Marla...Max wants me to put you off the ship for not cooperating. I don't want to do that. We're more than a crew on this ship. We're a family. Come back to us. I know it's hard. I know you want to hold onto that dream of being on _Voyager. _But you have to face facts."

"I don't want to be a murderer," she managed.

"You won't be," he said, and reached under the bed for something. Marla smelled barbecue and her stomach growled audibly. He held a chunk of meat impaled on a skewer out to her.

"Here," he said sincerely. "Take it. It'll give you strength."

Marla's hand shook. She knew what it was: a trap. If she took it she would be obligated. It would be her impaled on that skewer, writhing and helpless. Rudy knew all the tricks. All the same, she wanted to eat. She wanted to live. She wanted to be somewhere warm and safe. Was that too much to ask?

"Just take it," he said warmly. "It's all right."

Despising herself for being so weak, she took it with a trembling hand and raised it to her mouth. The taste was exquisite. It was soaked in rich tangy sauce and a little bit of spice. The meat was thick, but almost ready to fall off the bone. She tore at it, wanting to devour it like an animal. Forcing herself to eat slowly but met with only limited success.

Rudy smiled tolerantly. "Better?" he asked.

It was, but not much. She still felt like she'd been in a wrestling match with a Hirogen. Rudy helped her to her feet and she staggered.

"Wha...what are you...," she couldn't finish the sentence. The cabin whirled and spun crazily. She was a doll in his grip. He didn't let her fall.

"I'm paroling you, for now," he said gently, and half-carried, half-dragged her out of her cabin to the turbolift. She flinched when she saw it.

"Rudy, no, please," she pleaded. "We can't...,"

"Yes, we can," he said. "The security grid is on. It's safe."

Fear of the turbolift had been ingrained in her during the long siege of the life forms. The motion of the graviton lift made her nauseated, and she thought for one horribly long moment that she might vomit all over her captain. His arms were strong and supportive around her, but the pressure made her already teetering stomach only worse.

She knew where he was taking her, but she was powerless to resist. Her reserves were gone. She had nothing more to draw on. She couldn't have stopped him, no matter how badly she wanted to. When they arrived in Engineering, she flinched to see Max and Noah standing there.

Rudy got her installed in her new chair. Noah reached forward with a hypospray which he pressed to her neck. She tried to pull away from that, but her arms seemed to be made of bricks. After a few moments, she found she felt better. Her thoughts came a little more clearly. An idea occurred to her.

"Have you been drugging me?" she asked, her bloodshot eyes firm on Rudy's.

An expression of shock crossed his face. "No," he said. "Only whatever the doctor has suggested. This is a side effect of being in coma for so long."

Max watched her emotionlessly. She could sense his veiled malevolence, but he didn't do anything. He just watched her. Maybe seeing her finally reaching the reserves of her strength amused him somehow. She didn't know. She was exhausted and weak and dizzy. All she wanted was for it to stop.

He surprised her by limiting himself. "Marla, you've got to face facts. We're doing okay. The ship is doing okay. You're not." He raised his palms up to the darkness.

"Max is right," Rudy said. "Marla, the doctor's program has been destabilizing. It's because we kept him on twenty-four hours a day while you were in the coma. We _have _to get home. _You _have to get home. Your systems are breaking down; that's why you feel so terrible. We can keep you going with medication for a little while...," he shook his head and looked deeply troubled. "If we don't get you home soon, then...well, then you'll just keep feeling worse and worse, and eventually you'll die."

The news sank into her. Somehow, it did not seem a surprise. She'd suffered all through her time on the _Equinox. _Why should this be any different?

Despair roiled her stomach again. The idea of living as an invalid on this ship, constantly feeling sick and dizzy, was frightening. The idea that it was her fault that their EMH was offline showered her in guilt. Her eyelids fluttered. She slumped doll-like in the chair, only able to sit up because Rudy was helping to prop her up.

Rationalizations marched in tight formation across her brain. These people had taken care of her for weeks. The Federation wasn't here. They were alone and on their own. _Voyager _was hunting them and would kill them if they found them. The aliens were already dead and processed into fuel. Refusing to build the device wouldn't bring any of them back. She was dying.

Against all that lay only her belief that what they had done was wrong and should not be repeated. She'd tried to hold out. She'd tried as hard as she could. But her reserves were exhausted. She had nothing left, and no one was going to relieve her. For a long moment she despised herself utterly. Why couldn't she be strong? Seven of Nine had been willing to sacrifice her life to protect what she believed in; why couldn't she muster the bravery to do that? Then she remembered that Seven _hadn't _done that. What _had _happened to her, anyway?

The pressure of her crewmates's eyes drove thoughts of Seven from her mind. Silent tension grew unbearable. And finally, Marla did the only thing she could. Tears rose to her eyes and her head lowered.

"All right," she said in a watery tone. "I...I'll build it."


	13. Battle Stations

_Author's note: _

_ Sorry about the typos. Although you have to admit, the image of billions of Romulans stuffing their laundry in a really really big dryer is amusing. I'll correct it. (That was an important plot point too, now I feel stupid. :) _

_ Katharina-B: Okay, if that's what you want, perhaps I can oblige you. As far as Section 31 succeeding...well, we'll have to see! _

_JadziaKathryn: Yes, I did have to do that. Stay tuned; there's more to come. Good catch on the typos; that's part of what happens when you write late at night. _

_ Worker72: No, I'm not using any novels as canon. Just the series, which never indicated Janeway had any knowledge of Section 31. _

The readyroom of _USS Grambyo _was authentically worn and abused. It didn't bother Kilbourne. He'd run operations in worse places.

He looked up silently as Ransom entered. The urge to refrain from speaking was strong. After all, he had done something he hadn't before: he had come onto his fake _Equinox _while Marla Gilmore was awake. Obviously she couldn't hear him; she was down in Engineering, and the readyroom was off the bridge. Even so, he didn't speak. One never knew.

Ransom smiled and took a seat.

"She's broken, sir."

"Good," Kilbourne said. "I have engineers on standby once she's done. They're going to fit the vessel with a cloaking device. We also need to modify the atmospheric sampling unit to deploy the virus."

Ransom nodded. "I thought that's what Project Stone was about."

Kilbourne nodded. "Yes. Project Sling was about the mutagenic drive; Project Stone was about the virus." He steepled his fingers.

"Just think," he said thoughtfully. "As soon as she finishes that drive, we'll be ready to go. Three days for the rest of the work. Then we'll strike a blow for the Federation that will guarantee peace for the next hundred years." He chuckled. "Ever think you'd be part of assuring the freedom of your great-grandchildren?"

Ransom smiled tightly. "Took long enough to break her," he said. "We used some of the old standbys. It would've been easier if we used psychotropics. But this worked. We kept her on the usual medication, plus added others to make her feel weak and dizzy and nauseous." He smiled humorlessly.

Kilbourne nodded. Section 31 had always been far better at interrogation than its rival intelligence services. The Klingon idea of interrogation was to growl at someone and punch them until they talked; the Cardassians could be decent, but the idea of abusing prisoners was too culturally ingrained in them. The Rommies, now, the Rommies knew their stuff pretty well. But Section 31 had cracked Cardassians, Klingons, Jem-Hadar, all of them. Physical torture didn't work. Instead, you manipulated someone's reality, with appropriate drug backup, until they spilled what you wanted. Control their reality, and eventually you would control their mind.

Kilbourne sat still, smiled, and felt satisfied. He'd been worried for a bit; Marla Gilmore had indeed proved to be a tougher nut to crack than he had thought. If Kathryn Janeway ever spared a thought for her errant crewman in her smile-'n-wave tour of the Federation, she ought to be proud. Even light-years away, even in a carefully simulated _Equinox, _Gilmore had tried to stick to the path Janeway had taught her rather than Ransom's dark path. It had taken a lot more meticulous abuse than originally planned to get her to cave.

Yet, finally, they had success. She would build it. In a month's time, the Romulan Empire would be a shadow of its former self. He closed his eyes and thought of it. The Klingons and Cardassians were already crippled. The Dominion would remain confined to the Gamma Quadrant. With the Romulans down, the Federation would reign triumphant over the Alpha and Beta quadrants. With enough time, their superiority would be unassailable.

Kilbourne closed his eyes and tried to think of what the future might bring. Would these crippled foes eventually join the Federation? He doubted it. Instead, they would become dependent on Federation handouts. The Klingons were already getting a lot of help, the better to make them dependent. The Romulans had always been a more dangerous threat. Now, after centuries, that threat might be lifted once and for all. There would be no more Romulan sword pointing at the Federation's heart; instead, there would be a few terrified, weakened survivors who would be relegated to the bottom of the ladder and do the menial tasks in exchange for their lives.

It was poetic in a way. Marla Gilmore would help him make the Romulans the _Equinox _Five of the entire quadrant. He wondered if Kathryn Janeway had ever realized she was setting the tone for the next century of galactic relations when she took the five survivors and broke them to helots. He doubted it.

He could taste victory. He could see Romulus buried under a mountain of corpses. Of course, there were those in Starfleet who would be pansies about it and insist that they had an obligation to help, but what was there to help? The virus was a lot better than the first attempt against the Founders. This one acted quickly and brought on death within a few days. By the time the Romulans even realized that the problem was beyond their control, much less admitted it, it would be too late for even the most dewy-eyed alien-hugging idealist in the Federation to stem the flow of the dying. Conveniently, the disease affected Vulcans too, which would keep a healthy chunk of the Federation's best medical and scientific minds away from Romulus.

He thought about ordering a Romulan to mow his lawn, and found the thought pleased him immensely.

He gestured at the LCARS panel. "Pull her up on the viewscreen. I want to see it."

Ransom nodded, went to the panel, and tapped out a few commands. _Grambyo _had been redesigned to not only be Marla Gilmore's environment, but her prison. There was no place she could go where she couldn't be monitored. The warp core appeared on the screen, with a lone, small figure bent over a strange device in front of it. Ransom zoomed in. Her back was to the camera, but Kilbourne could see her shoulders quaking and could hear faint sobbing over the audio.

"She doesn't seem very happy," Kilbourne observed coolly.

Ransom shrugged. "She isn't. People do that when they're broken. They're twitching, stuttering wrecks, but they do what they're told. It isn't pretty, but it works." He tilted his head. "What's going to happen to her when this is done?"

Kilbourne shrugged. "I haven't decided," he said delicately. "Obviously, she'll remain in our custody for the short term. If we need her, we'll keep her around. Otherwise, we'll just eliminate her."

Ransom seemed troubled at that, but said nothing.

"It'll be painless, I assure you," Kilbourne said. "You're not feeling sorry for her, are you?"

It was Ransom's turn to shrug. "You can't be a good interrogator if you don't like people," he observed. "Funny but true. Your modifications to the EMH, for example – he's a useful tool, but he'd never make an interrogator himself. He's too sadistic."

Kilbourne chuckled. "We'll have to tone that down. He _did _turn into quite a sadistic little weasel, didn't he?"

Ransom nodded. "He'll have his uses," he said. "Still...yes, I guess I do feel for her a little."

Kilbourne made a dismissive gesture. "Operational necessity," he said. The fate of Marla Gilmore didn't mean a thing to him. As long as she was useful he would keep her alive. Otherwise...well, what was the point? Section 31 was not a homeless shelter.

His communicator beeped. He took it off his belt and lifted it. It was the officer currently commanding the _X5573. _Had Benning reported in?

"Sir," the voice said urgently. "You need to return to the ship immediately. We have a starship coming in at high warp."

Kilbourne tensed. "There isn't supposed to be any Starfleet traffic through this part of space for the next few months," he said.

"There is now, sir. They've located _Grambyo. _They're on an intercept course." The voice waited a moment more. "Sir...it's _Voyager." _

Benning had not checked in. That meant he was either no longer on _Voyager, _or captured. Somehow, Janeway had found their location. How? Had Bashir coughed up something? He'd pay for that. Kilbourne could have him slowly skinned alive in a Section 31 detention center. Perhaps the good doctor could experience the Emergency Interrogation Hologram firsthand. It would be interesting to see what happened when no one restrained the new sadism modules they'd designed.

Not a trace of his thoughts escaped his face or voice. He'd learned to conceal what emotions he had.

"Very well. Stand by."

Kilbourne rose. "Dammit," he said. "Starship captains. Never can predict them."

Ransom looked about ready to lunge over the desk. "What are we supposed to do?"

Kilbourne eyed him bloodlessly. "Stay in command on the ship," he said. "I'll head back to my ship and provide some support."

Ransom looked panicked. "You can't leave us here," he said. "We can't possibly win a fight with _Voyager!_"

Kilbourne sighed. "You won't have to," he said. "By the time _Voyager _gets in range, we'll be cloaked. Relax. Just try to buy some time. You can't win a fight with _Voyager, _that's true. Do you think Janeway can win a fight with a vessel that can fire while cloaked?"

He smiled coldly. Ransom still seemed unsure.

"You've been acting as Captain Ransom this far. Play the role out. If Janeway boards you, let her. Just make sure Gilmore doesn't go anywhere and everything will be fine."

"What are you going to do?" Ransom asked.

Kilbourne smiled tightly. "I'm going to win the first ship-to-ship battle between Section 31 and Starfleet," he said. Then he spoke into his communicator. "Beam me aboard." The familiar sparkle of the transporter claimed him.

His own ship was in far better shape than _Grambyo. _Calmly, he strode from the transporter room to the bridge. It was smaller than _Voyager's _bridge, and his bridge crew were much closer together. Still, it would do.

Ransom was being a pansy, he thought. Psyops agents rarely had the guts for any real blood to be shed. He made a pretty good starship commander himself. He was not afraid. And he had the same edge on _Voyager _that _Voyager _had over _Grambyo. _

"Sir, _Voyager _is coming in at high warp. They're charging weapons," his tactical agent said.

Kilbourne nodded. "Engage cloak. Raise shields. Scan them and see if we can determine their shield frequency. Back us off to five hundred kilometers from _Grambyo. _That's our bait."

"Aye."

"When they get close enough, lock weapons and fire a full spread of torpedoes," he said. "The story will have to be that _Voyager _experienced a catastrophic loss of warp core containment. There were no survivors."

His crew paused; they weren't Starfleet automatons trained to obey. They'd have to deal. This was too close to be taken from him. Gilmore could be taken back into custody, the project could be set up somewhere else. But he'd be damned if he was going to let some starship captain with her head full of gooey ideals take away everything he'd planned for. He took a deep breath.

"All agents....battle stations."

* * *

Ransom was nervous. He was not the real Rudy Ransom; he was a Psyops agent. He'd never served in Starfleet, let alone commanded a ship. Kilbourne might be sure of himself, but he could afford to be. He was on a ship that had quantum torpedoes and a cloaking device. Ransom had a crippled _Nova-_class vessel that was crewed by two other Psyops agents, a bunch of holograms, and an engineer who he'd carefully reduced to an emotional wreck.

He'd been in Psyops long enough to know that his ship was being used as bait. He could tell from the sensors that _X5573 _had already cloaked. He knew that once _Voyager _got close enough, Kilbourne would be able to pummel the ship into submission. That didn't mean the sight of the rapidly approaching ship didn't scare the hell out of him, though. His job was to back other people into corners; he didn't much like it himself.

Burke was at Tactical, hunched over the console. Dammit, why didn't anything on this ship _work? _The darker-haired man shot him a glance.

"Are the holograms going to stay stable?" he asked. "Can holograms even fight?"

Ransom shrugged. "They're still here," he said. "They're being projected from the spyship. We don't have control of them. Kilbourne does."

"What about Gilmore?" Lessing asked.

Ransom tried to think. "There's a holoemitter in Engineering," he said. "Bring the doctor on-line and have him incapacitate her."

"Is that safe?" Burke asked, his fingers flying over the console. "He's not the stablest guy in the world."

"He'll have to do," Ransom answered. "All right. Go to Red Alert. All hands...battle stations."

* * *

It was hard to make out the enhanced warp device. She was working on it, yes. All the same, she couldn't stop crying, and the image of the hellish device kept blurring under her tears. Her nose ran. She was sobbing openly. She didn't _want _to do this. She'd tried so hard to avoid it.

What was worse was the knowledge that she didn't have to do this. Rudy and Max were on the bridge. But if they came down and saw her doing anything else, it would just start again. Building the thing was tearing her apart, but not building it would simply delay the inevitable.

Red lights flashed. Her head jolted around. She took a moment to wipe her nose and mouth and try to act _something _like a Starfleet officer. It took a few minutes. Turning her back on the evil device helped. She didn't want to look at it.

Finally she sniffled, wiped blobs of things she didn't want to think about from her mouth, and tapped her combadge.

"Gilmore to bridge," she said, and her voice sounded empty and papery in the dank room.

"Bridge here," came Rudy's clipped reply.

"Why are we at Red Alert?" A thousand questions lurked behind that one. _Is Voyager coming? Are they going to kill us? Are you going to surrender? _

"Stand by," was his only response.

"But, Rudy--,"

"Stand _by, _I said." He sounded angry, and Marla quailed. She looked over at the enhanced warp device. It reminded her of a modern cannibal's pot, hungry and waiting to be filled with corpses. The sight of it reminded her of her own pusillanimity and cowardice. She started to cry again weakly, the heels of her hands screwed into her eyes.

"Ms. Gilmore. If you could stop blubbering and turn around, please?"

The voice was prissy and sourly amused. Marla turned around and stared blankly at what she saw. The EMH stood before her, holding a hypospray in one hand, a nasty smile on his face. All she could do was gawp.

"How...how are you out of sickbay?" she asked in sheer befuddlement..

"Captain Ransom asked me to visit you," the EMH replied, and stepped forward, wielding the hypospray. She flinched away from him, trying to get to her feet. He grabbed her arm and pulled her viciously forward, spilling her onto the floor. She gasped; his grip was _iron, _and she'd never seen him been so rough before.

"It's been a while since I got to play with you last," the doctor leered, and straddled her. One hand snagged in her hair and pulled her head back. "I'm supposed to incapacitate you. Can't have you escaping, can we?"

She tried to twist away, but couldn't. He was a lot stronger than she remembered. The hypospray hissed as it touched her neck, and she grabbed at it a second too late. The doctor grabbed her wrist with his other hand and smirked. It _hurt. _That grip was like an icy shackle.

"Why?" she asked, staring up at him in shock.

"Ethical subroutines aren't the only things that can be deleted, you know," he said smugly. "Compassion and empathy subroutines...gone, gone, gone." He let her go and put his hands together, linking his thumbs and fluttering his fingers to mimic a flying dove. "Life is much more amusing when you _enjoy _causing pain." As if to emphasize, he bent her wrist back, seeming pleased with the agonized groan he elicited.

"A standard general anesthetic would be so very _boring_," he said, and grinned horribly. "So I came up with my own concoction. A nice little hallucinogen. _Just _the thing to let those inner demons come out and play, hmmmmm? You've got a few minutes before it kicks in, Miss Gilmore. Enjoy them while you can. It'll slow you down enough for Captain Ransom."

"What the hell is going on?" she pleaded. "Why are you doing this to me?"

The doctor stepped forward, driving his holographic foot into her ribcage. An explosion of pain echoed in her side and she gasped for air and tried to roll away. Those strong, cruel hands grabbed her again and flipped her onto her back as neatly as a mother preparing to change her baby's diaper.

The doctor straddled her, grabbing a handful of her uniform shirt and pulling her up to face him. "You took too long. _Voyager_ is attacking. Congratulations, you've signed everyone's death warrants. How's that?" He favored her with another sadistic smile and watched her face intently. His image blurred as her pupils began to dilate. He hovered over her for a long moment or two and let her go, watching her fall back to the deck of Engineering with muted interest.

"Have a nice trip," he said lightly, and took himself off-line. Marla didn't see him vanish.

* * *

"Confirmed. The vessel is _Nova-_class. There are no _Nova-_class vessels stationed in this area. This vessel has no business being here."

Seven had announced that several minutes before, once her Astrometrics scanners had detected the presence of a small vessel hanging in the middle of space. It had been in the right place; at warp four, just a few hours from Deep Space Nine. Far enough away that sensors on the station wouldn't detect it easily; close enough that it could resupply the ship if necessary.

Janeway felt action approaching. A wire twisted around her gut. Colonel Kira and Dr. Bashir were on the bridge with her and her command crew. Kira had offered to man a station, but Janeway had demurred. It wasn't that she didn't trust the other woman; she did, somehow. She didn't think Kira would try to command the bridge; the Bajoran gave no sign of wanting to take over. It was something deeper; the desire to stand or fall with her own people. Bashir and Kira were useful as observers and sources of information, but ultimately, this was a mission for _Voyager. _

It said something about Kira Nerys, Janeway found herself thinking, that she didn't object; she found herself a place near Harry to stand and kept her mouth shut.

"If it's the one we supplied a few weeks ago, it'll be _USS Epinoxa," _Kira said, her eyes intent on the viewscreen.

Janeway frowned. She had sifted through Starfleet databases searching for the ship. "There's no such ship in the fleet," she said. "Trust me. I looked them all up."

Kira let out a breath between her teeth.

Seeing the ship was grimly satisfying. She had been _right. _It wasn't much; just a little ship shaped like a spoon with warp nacelles. As the ship drew closer, she realized how badly damaged it was and hissed. She'd only ever seen a ship damaged that badly before.

"Go to Yellow Alert," she said tersely.

"A ship like that can't fight us," Chakotay observed, and from his strained tone of voice she could tell that he was remembering the same thing she was.

She gritted her teeth. This time they wouldn't fight. This time she'd have to keep herself checkreined. It wasn't easy; she was easily as angry at the men who had brought this into being as she had been with Captain Ransom. This was worse, when you came down to it.

"Maybe they can't. But I want the men who did this." She turned and gave Chakotay a hard look. "I'm not going to stand for this, either."

The small ship drew ever closer. Why weren't they doing anything? It just seemed to be sitting there. Was the damn thing crewed? It looked like it had power; most of what should be glowing was.

Then it was close enough that she could read the name emblazoned on the saucer.

_U.S.S. EQUINOX NCC-72381 _

Janeway let out a hiss of surprise and anger.

"I told Noah Lessing we all make our own hell," she murmured. "It seems Section 31 made hers."

Chakotay didn't say anything, but she felt a reassuring hand on her arm. She smiled humorlessly. He meant well, but it didn't help. It couldn't be this easy. Section 31 had not put in all this effort just to hand over Marla Gilmore with a sheepish apology.

"That's not the only ship out there," Dr. Bashir said from behind her somewhere. "I'm positive of it. It's not Section 31's style."

Janeway nodded slowly, her eyes locked on the viewscreen. "Scan for any signs of a cloaked vessel," she ordered. "Plasma venting. Heat signatures. Anything we can find."

In response, she could hear Harry's fingers zipping over the controls. "No sign," he said tightly.

"Go to Red Alert. Lock weapons but don't fire until I give the order," Janeway said. "Hail them. They get one chance to surrender and once chance only."

"Channel open," Harry said.

Janeway cleared her throat. "Attention, stolen vessel. This is Captain Kathryn Janeway of the Federation starship _Voyager. _You are under a false name and registry. Lower your shields and prepare to be boarded. If you attempt to flee, I'll open fire if I have to."

She waited for the ship to do _something. _Seconds ticked by like hours. The ship should be turning to face her, charging weapons, raising shields. Yet it didn't. It just sat there. It was unnerving. She could feel her palms begin to sweat and locked her hands behind her back. The urge to pace the bridge was strong and she had to force herself to stand in front of her chair.

"Maybe it's abandoned," Paris said. "Or maybe they just have a few people on it."

Janeway's eyes scanned the viewscreen, seeking out what she knew had to be there.

"Too easy," she said.

"Captain," Chakotay said delicately, "we may not need to fight. Let's see if we can beam aboard a security detail. This isn't a rematch with Ransom. We're here to get our crewman. That's all."

Janeway considered. She was determined not to let the rift between herself and Chakotay develop again. All the same, her gut said the same thing Dr. Bashir had. They were out there...somewhere.

"They're raising shields," Harry said suddenly.

She turned and looked at Chakotay. He was right, after a fashion; the entire idea was rescuing a member of her crew. But that wasn't all it was. Not anymore. There were plenty of old pains the sight of a ship called _Equinox _brought up, but she had to go with her own instincts.

Other than raising shields, the science vessel did nothing. The tension grew oppressive. _Do something! _She wanted to scream at the ship. What did Section 31 have in mind? What game were they playing now?

"Have that security team on standby in transporter room one," Janeway ordered.

On the screen, slowly, _Equinox _began to turn ponderously, as if a cadet was at the helm for the first time.

"Captain," Chakotay said gently, "maybe they don't know what they're doing."

She eyed him for a moment, not wanting to dress him down on the bridge. Perhaps he was right and she was just being paranoid. Whoever was conning that ship was so damned _placid. _Slowly, she shook her head.

"Sorry, Commander, but it doesn't feel right," she said, and strove to make her voice gentle to pad the blow. "These people are professionals. There's something more than meets the eye here."

Was _Equinox _just bait? Was all this a false front? Bashir had described how Section 31 had created labyrinthine plots before. Was this just a clever decoy that she'd been meant to find? Was Marla Gilmore being held somewhere on the other side of the quadrant?

She bit her lip and gave the order. Maybe it was right, maybe it was wrong. Maybe it was overkill. Maybe it wouldn't be enough. But she had to act.

"Prepare to fire on my mark. All hands to battle stations."


	14. Strategy

_Author's note: _

_ Glad you all liked the DS9 characters – tossing them into the mix made for a nice story. But this is first off a Voyager fic. The evil EMH seems to be more populat than I expected. Let's see how manages to mangle this (some typos were my fault, but there's stuff that shows up fine on my filesat home that gets garbled in transmission.) _

_Escapefreak: glad you like the tactics. As for Section 31 – they're not nice, but life is more fun with them around. _

_ Worker72: Section 31 probably wouldn't bother explaining anything to Marla; they removed Noah's memories earlier and they'd do the same thing to her. _

_JadziaKathryn: Glad you like the DS9 characters along for the ride. _

_ Webster82:Glad you like the fic, and the evil EMH is fun. (I wonder what you would think of a similar piece I was working on with an evil and somewhat loony Q....) _

Kilbourne was surprised. He hadn't expected _Voyager _to show up. How the hell had they done it? Bashir would pay. The man had done too much damage to Section 31. After this, he would not be allowed to live.

Neither would _Voyager, _he decided. Operational security had been far too compromised. Getting rid of a Federation hero like Janeway would be problematic, but there was no other way around it.

"Lock torpedoes. Full spread," he said.

His weapons agent was good at his job. Almost immediately, four quantum torpedoes launched. He could see them. He could see _Voyager. _Fortunately, _Voyager _couldn't see him, and by the time they would be able to see the torpedoes, his helmsman would have already moved the ship. _Voyager _would only be able to fire at the empty space his ship had occupied a moment ago.

"Electronic warfare agent. Status?"

His electronic warfare agent was already bent over his console. Starfleet didn't use electronic warfare officers – at least not officially. Section 31 had no such compunction. The EWA's job was to attempt to covertly access _Voyager's _computer systems. If he was able to get in, he could do all kinds of things. He could fudge weapon locks, lower shields – depending on how quick a captain and security officer were, he might even be able to remotely trigger the self-destruct sequence.

"Working on it. _Voyager _doesn't seem to be responding to the usual access codes."

Damn. Perhaps that Vulcan security officer had done his job. From the _Voyager _logs that had been turned over to Section 31, there had been some embarrassing breaches in the Delta Quadrant. It didn't matter. He watched his torpedoes flare against the starship's shields.

He expected _Voyager _to fire back blindly, trying to find him. It wouldn't work. Section 31 agents on a spyship were trained to fight just about anyone, including Federation starships. They knew standard Starfleet procedures for attempting to locate a cloaked vessel. They had countermeasures.

In a fair fight, an _Intrepid-_class cruiser would've made mincemeat out of his ship very quickly. He had no intention of giving them a fair fight. Behind his cloak, he could pummel them as he wished until their shields failed. Once that happened, it would be quick, at least.

_Voyager _surprised him by firing on _Grambyo. _Phasers. He tilted his head. That was interesting. Was Janeway going to try to disable _Grambyo? _What was she going to do with it? It wouldn't be too hard for the cruiser to cripple the planetary surveyor. Didn't she realize that sending security squads to that ship was only going to sign their death warrants? If _Grambyo _was lost, he could fire on that ship as easily as she could, and when you came down to it, he could send his agents to board her as easily as Janeway could send her security. It would be a pitched battle, but he had the upper hand.

From an eyeball of it, it didn't look like _Voyager _had done much other than scratch up the shields. Instruments confirmed it. What were they doing? Probing, probably. Foolish, he thought. When you went to war, the smartest thing to do was hit the other guy hard. Or was Janeway concerned for Gilmore's safety? That was possible, too. Psyops had identified that as a possible reaction. He understood the concept; he didn't want to lose his agents on the _Grambyo _if he could avoid it. As for Marla Gilmore, she wasn't Janeway's crewman anymore. She was his property, and he wasn't going to give her back.

His communications agent announced that Janeway was ordering another surrender from _Grambyo. _She addressed it as _Equinox. _Nothing aimed at him. That was fine. He ordered another round of torpedoes. How much longer until their shields failed?

He didn't know. But he meant to find out.

* * *

Ransom flinched as the first phaser blast jolted the ship. Lessing had been slow in moving it around, and Burke was trying to get weapons online. None of them had ever been Starfleet officers. It wasn't easy to go into battle against the real thing. The holograms who had been playing the ship's crew hadn't been terribly bright to begin with. They didn't have to be; they were just bit players. And once Kilbourne decided he wanted to use his ship's computers to pound on _Voyager _instead of feed data to the hologramshis holographic crew were about to get a lot dumber.

_I'm not a starship captain. I just play one in this deception operation, _he thought.

"Lock phasers and torpedoes," he ordered. "Fire."

Burke obeyed. The _Grambyo's _twin phasers lanced out. Four torpedoes followed suit. They exploded against _Voyager's _shields. Ransom stared at them nervously. How much punishment could those shields take, anyway? He didn't know. His skill lay in manipulating the minds of others.

Kilbourne was out there, and the _X5573 _was there to even the odds against _Voyager. _Even so, being the bait was not a hell of a lot of fun. He backed other people into corners for a living; he didn't like it much himself.

"Kilbourne to Ransom." _That _was welcome.

"Go ahead," he said, trying to keep the panic out of his voice.

"Don't worry about a thing. I have a weapons lock on _Voyager. _I also have my electronic warfare agent trying to get into their computer systems. They won't be able to beam you onto their ship. It'll work out fine." He could hear Kilbourne focus his attention on someone else. "Fire quantum torpedoes. Full spread."

"Ransom, all you have to do is keep track of Gilmore. I'll handle _Voyager." _

"Okay," Ransom said, and swallowed. He'd studied the real Rudy Ransom for this operation.

He tapped his combadge. "Ransom to Doctor."

"Please state the nature of the interrogation emergency," the doctor replied cheerily. It was almost as if he didn't care that the ship was getting pummeled.

"What did you do with Marla?" he asked.

"Oh, ho ho ho. Don't worry about a thing, Captain. Marla Gilmore is incapacitated, just like you asked." The EMH chuckled. "A little hallucinogen of my own concoction. There's _art _in these things, you know."

Ransom blinked. The use of psychoactive drugs in interrogation was something he _did _know.

"Did you say hallucinogen?"

"Indeed," the doctor said merrily.

"You _idiot. _I said to knock her out! Is she conscious?"

"She'll begin hallucinating, if she hasn't already. All the worst fears of her mind dredged up right before her very eyes. Or so she'll think." The doctor sounded pleased with himself.

_Great. Just when I need an engineer with combat experience the doctor has her tripping her face off. _The EMH wasn't just sadistic; he was unreliable. He didn't have command of the other holograms; they were under the control of the spyship and he didn't trust them anyway. He nodded at Lessing.

"Go down to Engineering. Get a hypospray from sickbay and just knock her out. Goddam hologram. Then drag her up here."

Lessing nodded and headed for the turbolift.

"Great," Burke said, echoing his thought. "How are we supposed to interrogate her if the EMH is letting his inner Dr. Mengele out?"

"Memories can be removed," Ransom said, eying the viewscreen tightly. "Once we're out of here, the right drugs and neural stimulation and she won't remember anything. But we have to get out of here first."

He turned back to the viewscreen and gripped the arms of his chair grimly.

"Fire another spread," he said.

* * *

Marla cowered, her back against the wall, scrunched under the Engineering console. The doctor's invidious drug worked its way into her mind. Her pupils were dilated. Her face flushed. Her hands shook. And as the doctor had promised, her inner demons came out to taunt her.

A figure appeared in the doorway; a tall, imperious blonde. She stalked into the room and observed the woman before her with disdain. Faint light gleamed off the metal implant over her eyebrow. Her lips twisted in distaste.

"Marla Gilmore," Seven said tonelessly. "Chief Engineer of _USS Equinox. _You only got that title by default. You are weak." She made a dismissive, pushing gesture. "_I _resisted even in the face of death. You could not. Why was it so important that you survive? Morals mean nothing to you. That is what you taught me."

"No," Marla whispered powerlessly.

Another figure entered Engineering. A tall man, with hair blonde like her own, wearing the older uniforms that Starfleet had issued before the current open-collared version. Lieutenant Keith Gilmore of the _USS Lexington; _her father. He stared at his sobbing offspring with no sympathy.

"Look at you," he said. "Did I die at Wolf 359 for this? Do you know how many Gilmores have served in Starfleet before you? Think of the shame you've brought on their names." He shook his head coldy. "I'm ashamed to call you my daughter."

After him, B'Elanna Torres walked forward, her arms folded, her lip curled in distaste.

"Do you know how many of my engineers you killed? You and your _Equinox _crew? Did you ever think you could be forgiven? That you had a place on _Voyager?" _She spat on the deck. "I never wanted you on my ship, you _petaQ. _Then as soon as you get back here, you recreate your work? You have no honor.

Marla flinched away and bit her lip until the coppery taste of blood filled her mouth.

"No, please...I tried...I tried to convince them...you don't understand...it's just...,"

Chakotay entered Engineering then, standing by the warp core to examine her work and then her with the same evident disgust as the others. The tattoo stood out starkly on his forehead. Below it, his eyes glowed in malevolent judgment.

"Excuses, excuses," he said. "And you couldn't even be loyal to your captain? You coughed up those codes so you could save yourself, didn't you? Did you think you were going to ingratiate yourself with me?" He shook his head. "And before, when you tried to transfer to _Voyager _yourself. Always looking out for yourself. No wonder you got kicked out of Starfleet."

Boots rang on the deck. Marla clamped her hands over her head and whimpered because she knew who was coming. She glanced up to see Kathryn Janeway enter and stand by her crew.

"We trusted you, and you betrayed us," she said harshly. There was no compassion in her face; her voice was as cold as a knife blade. "I was foolish enough to take you on my ship. You got better than you deserved. There's no way...no way at _all..._you could ever earn my trust. People like you don't get second chances." She curled her lip in scorn. "I should have beamed you back to the _Equinox. _It would've been better that way. Leaving you on this ship would be the appropriate punishment."

"No," Marla whimpered. "Please, that's not me, I had orders, we were desperate...," she trailed off.

Then they all began to scream at her at once, calling her horrible names and epithets. Marla shrieked to make them stop. She lunged across Engineering to a storage rack and fumbled it open. A phaser clattered out of it, landed on the floor, and bounced. She crawled after it, feeling her pulse pound painfully in her ears.

_No place among us. Coward. Unworthy. Dishonorable. Weak. _Couldn't they see what she had gone through? Couldn't they show her a tiny scrap of compassion? Hadn't she tried to show them she could be worthy? But they told her what she had always been afraid to think:: that she _wasn't _worthy, that she had no place among them, and that she could never be forgiven.

She hunched low over the deck and held the phaser in both hands. Yes, she had broken. She would destroy what she had made. With shaking, sweaty hands she adjusted the phaser to maximum and pointed it at the device.

"Please," she said to the shadowy figures taunting her, and pressed the button. It occurred to her that firing a phaser near the warp core wasn't a bright move, but it was a fraction too late. Bright yellow light flared in the dark engine room for a moment. The enhanced warp device shimmered, turned red as it molecules were ripped asunder, and vanished.

Janeway chuckled. "Not enough," she said inexorably. "Not even _remotely _enough."

"It's gone," Marla pleaded. "It's gone, nobody used it, I hadn't even finished it, I stopped. I destroyed it."

"There's no point in trying," B'Elanna smirked. "Not even your miserable little life would be enough to make up for what you've already done."

When she heard bootsteps running towards her again, she didn't bother to see who had come to join her inquisition. A figure stood silhouetted in the doorway. Marla fired without thinking. The figure fell as if poleaxed. Slowly, eyes bulging, she crawled forward to see who this one was.

The faint light overhead fell on the figure on Noah Lessing, eyes wide with shock. His eyes met hers for a moment, and his hand reached up to touch the phaser burn on his chest. She could see awareness sliding away from them, and they turned glassy and unseeing in death.

"Just _look," _B'Elanna said contemptuously. "Her best friend in the entire universe, and she kills him."

Panic grabbed her throat hard. She tried to shake him, knowing already it was too late. He was more real than the others; they faded into the shadows and looked almost incorporeal. She could feel the rough material of his uniform and the fading heat of his body.

"_Murderer." _Chakotay's voice was cold as vacuum.

"Her own crewmate," Janeway added scornfully.

"_NO!" _Marla screamed, hunching over and clamping her arms around herself. , emergency beam-out to sickbay...I didn't know it was you...please...I didn't...,"

His combadge crackled. The ship shook under the blast of another torpedo. "Bridge to Noah," the combadge said in a tinny voice.

What could she do? There was only one thing she could do. Once, in another life, Rudy had sacrificed himself aboard _Equinox _as penance for his crimes. For that, he had been forgiven. Cleansed.

She had to do the same thing.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her throat constricted.

"Bridge to Marla. We're reading phaser fire down there; what the hell is going on?"

"Tell him, Marla – or are you afraid to?" Seven smirked.

She grabbed the combadge and threw it away. It landed in a dark corner with a small _tink. _She wasn't supposed to wear it. She wasn't worthy. She wouldn't be until she cleansed herself and did penance.

"There is no penance for the likes of you," Chakotay said scornfully.

"_Go away!" _Marla screamed at him. But they didn't go away; they stood in her engine room and stared at her with naked, burning contempt on their faces. Marla hunched over again and began to sob.

Only one way to make them go away. Only one thing to do. She pulled herself up on her knees. One black-clad arm clamped onto the edge of the console. The other reached for the controls. Her wide, staring eyes scanned them, taking far too long to figure out what she needed to do.

"You won't do it," Janeway told her scornfully. "You killed dozens of aliens to protect yourself. Your first priority has always been your own tender little butt, hasn't it?"

Marla accepted the taunt silently. The controls for the warp core came to life on the screen. It was currently at sixty percent. A voice from her Academy days skipped through her tortured mind. _Starfleet builds warp cores conservatively. Most can be brought to one hundred ten percent in an emergency. Some have been able to hold at one hundred twenty. That's only in a life or death situation, my dear cadets. Too long or too high, and you'll blow the warp core and destroy the ship. _

Cleansing. Penance.

She brought the warp core up to two hundred percent. The computer advised her against this in a cool, calm voice. It didn't understand. No one did.

"Override," she croaked. "Authorization Gilmore, Chief Engineer...one...oh, shit...one beta six."

"Warp core will breach," the computer advised her.

"Let it," she said. "Engage security code lockout."

"Please input code," the computer asked in its icily calm manner.

The ship shook again. Marla told it the code she wanted.

"Code accepted. Warp core to two hundred percent. Warp core at sixty-five percent and rising. Warp core will breach in four minutes, twenty-six seconds. Security code lockout engaged."

She let herself collapse back to the deck. A great weight seemed to lift from her. They wouldn't be able to yell at her any more. No more judging words and cruel voices. No more reminders of her own inadequacies and shortcomings. She would be at peace.

The Jeffries tube seemed to beckon to her, as a safe place to hide. Why not? The deckplates hurt her knees as she crawled over to it, but she went on nonetheless. She couldn't walk even if she'd wanted to; her head was spinning and the ship rocked under _Voyager's _blasts.

She crawled into the tube. She'd hated tubes ever since the aliens attacked. It would be a final act of penance. But the metal was cool to her fevered cheek, and there was some comfort in that. There was more in knowing it would all be over very soon.

Cleansing. Penance.

* * *

"These quantum torpedoes pack a punch," Janeway said. Her own ship had them now, but the ones incoming from _Equinox _definitely hit harder than photon torpedoes. There were others coming in from an unknown source. It was maddening. Firing at where the torpedoes had come from had gotten them nowhere.

"Forward shields holding at sixty-two percent," Kim reported.

"Evasive action," Janeway ordered.

"Aye, captain," Paris said, trying his level best to dodge the incoming torpedoes. _Voyager _ducked and weaved nimbly under his control. Sometimes, it was enough and they could catch a torpedo with phasers before it hit them. Sometimes it wasn't, and the ship would shake under the impact.

"Captain, I'm reading a massive power surge on _Equinox," _Kim said suddenly. "Their warp core just jumped...it's going to go critical."

"Open a channel," Janeway snapped. Kim obeyed, a tone sounding.

"Stop what you're doing," Janeway ordered. "We're reading a massive power surge on your vessel. I say again: drop your shields and surrender."

"They're hailing us," Kim said suddenly. "Attacks from the cloaked vessel have ceased."

"On screen."

The face that appeared on her monitor was a craggy, not-unattractive blonde man. One she knew. One that had betrayed her. Kathryn Janeway blinked and stared at a dead man.

"We're experiencing problems with our warp core," Rudy Ransom said. "It...it's not us. We can't shut it down. It's locked out -- encoded."

For a moment – but only a moment – she could only stare in shock. They had just the place for Marla Gilmore; a recreated _Equinox. _No one deserved that sort of punishment. And what else might they have in their manufactured darkness?

But Kathryn Janeway was a starship captain, and she swallowed her shock to take action. She stared at Ransom on the screen. He looked frightened. The situation was beyond his control. Even so, the real Ransom had done more with less. If he hadn't done it, who had? It had to be Gilmore. Privately, the thought of that pleased her.

_He has no idea how to handle the situation. He's not a starship captain, whoever he really is. Whoever's in the cloaked vessel knows something about commanding a starship, but not this fellow. _

"Lower your shields and prepare to be boarded," Janeway said sternly. "We'll take care of your warp core. We'll be taking you into custody, and Marla Gilmore will be taken aboard _my _ship."

Nervously, Ransom agreed. Chakotay looked at her with concern etched on his face.

"It might be a trap," he said. "That cloaked vessel might still be around."

"It might be," she agreed. "It might have gone for reinforcements. It might not be able to fire while cloaked. We don't know. What we do know is that we have a crewman prisoner on that ship, and I _am _going to get her off it."

"You're going?" Chakotay asked.

"Yes. You have the conn." She turned her head and felt every inch a starship captain. "Bridge to Engineering."

"Engineering here," B'Elanna responded.

"B'Elanna, I want you and Seven to report to the transporter room with the security detail. Their warp core seems to be sabotaged. Your assignment is to get their warp core shut down and locate Marla Gilmore. Security can secure the ship."

"Regulations say you shouldn't leave the bridge in a combat situation," Chakotay reminded her, softly enough that the other bridge crew wouldn't hear.

She simply turned and looked at him for a moment. They'd always made a good command team. He could be frustrating sometimes, like now, when he was technically correct. This _did _seem awfully easy. The cloaked ship wasn't attacking, and she wanted to see that ship. She wanted to take what they had done, hold it as evidence, and bring these men to justice.

"You know what these men are planning," she said softly, but her tone was underlined with steel. "You see what they've done. I'm not going to stand for it. I'm going to see this through. I have to." She paused, wondering if there was anything else she could say. Or _should _say.

"Mr. Chakotay, I have faith in you. You have the conn." That was all she wanted to say in front of the others. It would have to do for now.

She headed for the transporter room, where Tuvok had a security team already assembled.

"Phaser rifles," she directed. "We don't know exactly what we'll find there." B'Elanna and Seven arrived a moment later. The boarding party stepped onto the transporter pad. She felt her stomach lurch. Whatever happened next, she would see this through.

"Energize," she said.

* * *

Kilbourne sat in his command chair, listening to the conversation between _Grambyo _and _Voyager. _He'd broken off his attack as soon as _Grambyo's _warp core had begun to show signs of going critical.

This wasn't going well. Ransom and Burke were good Psyops men, but they had no idea of how to run a battle situation. He didn't totally blame them; they weren't trained for it.

Now _Voyager _was sending boarding parties. Not good. Still, he had the edge. The situation was far from irretrievable.

"Sir," his electronic warfare agent said, "I'm in. I can get you their shield frequencies."

Kilbourne nodded, gazing off into space while he thought. "Feed them to the weapons console," he directed. "And shut down the holographic crew on _Grambyo." _

"I can get to their transporters," the agent offered. "I could scatter their boarding party."

He thought about that for a moment. Kathryn Janeway's molecules would hover forever scattered around a big chunk of space around here. Little parts of her might get into Deep Space 9. It would be satisfying, but not effective. They'd realize it.

"No," he said reflectively. "_Voyager _can do the grunt work of shutting down _Grambyo's _warp core. We'll let them do that, and then they''ll try to beam everyone back to _Voyager." _

He smiled coolly. "Helm, take us in. As close to _Voyager _as we can get. I want that cloak up. Impulse only, then dead stop once we're close enough."

"Aye," his agents said.

"Electronic warfare, I want you to track them on _Grambyo. _When they beam out, I want you to redirect Ransom, Burke, and Gilmore here. Once we have them, I want a full spread of weapons and phasers. At this range, and with their shield frequencies, we'll crack that ship like an egg."

"Targeting torpedoes and phasers....what about after the first volley?" his weapons agent asked.

Kilbourne sighed. "We do what we have to do," he said. "We're going to kill them all."


	15. Recovery

Kathryn Janeway opened her eyes to a memorial of a dark and battered past.

The bridge of the _Nova-_class ship was much as she remembered it. Rubble littered the floor. Collapsed beams poked here and there like giant's fingers. The lights overhead guttered on and off. They had even gotten the plaque on the wall right. She remembered that; putting it up with Ransom.

And standing not far from her was Ransom in the flesh. This light was terrible, but that face would be graven in her memory forever; a man who had betrayed every principle the Federation stood for. A captain forced to be a law unto himself, and who had broken his promise to Starfleet and to everything she held dear.

Yet this was worse. Despite the real Rudy Ransom's crimes, Janeway could recognize his noble qualities. He had done his unspeakable deeds for a purpose she could understand completely: to get his crew out of a desperate situation. He had taken responsibility for his actions: first pleading for leniency for his crew, then by sacrificing his life to ensure that the _Equinox's _evil experiments came to an end.

This Rudy Ransom did not have that mitigating circumstance. Looking at him, she could see that he was frightened but not desperate. This man had never seen his crewmen die; this man had never gone without food for days.

Even his readiness to surrender was despicable in a way the original's had not been. Ransom had surrendered because he had come to remember he was a starship captain. This man had surrendered so that Janeway would clean up the mess. She felt fury pulse through her and gripped the phaser rifle hard. Her boots rang on the deck as she approached him, her features twisted and angry. She leveled the rifle directly at him and stood for a long second, watching him over the barrel. He swallowed hard, but said nothing.

"Marla Gilmore," she said icily.

"In Engineering," he replied. "Our EMH...seems to have drugged her. He didn't follow my orders. I told him to knock her out. I sent Lessing to get her. He hasn't reported back."

"I doubt that," she said archly. "Noah Lessing is on _my _ship. Recuperating from an assassination attempt...from one of _your _cohorts."

The phaser rifle did not waver. His Adam's apple wavered once. His hands were raised in surrender. Even so, he had studied enough of playing at being a starship captain to not quail.

When she spoke again, her voice was hard and unforgiving. Above the rifle, her eyes stared him down, burning at him as they had burned at the man he pretended to be.

"When a young ensign in desperate straits obeys an order from her captain that she knows is immoral, that's bad. When a captain of a stranded vessel, thousands of light-years from home, makes a devil's bargain to save the rest of his crew from constant danger and endless desperation, that's worse. But when men with full bellies in warm offices decide to put a woman through her own personal hell just so she'll help you murder billions of innocent people and get away with it....," Her voice shook with fury.

"_That _is far worse than anything Rudy Ransom could have ever done." She prodded him with the phaser rifle.

"I'll clean up your mess, Mr....Ransom. I'll shut down your warp core and I'll bring you to my ship. But if you want to play Rudy Ransom, then finish out the role. He stood in front of me and admitted what he had done, and all he asked was for leniency for his crew." Her hands tightened on the rifle. "I _expect _the same level of confession from you."

Ransom eyed her for a few moments. "You know I can't do that," he said softly. "Captain, I'm an officer, like yourself. Obeying orders. I may not agree with them, but I have a duty to obey those above me, just as you do."

"Well, you surrendered your ship to me, so for now you take orders from me. Here's your first. Shut up and sit down. My security officers will take you and...Mr. Burke into custody." She flicked a hot glance at the dark-haired man who played _Equinox's _mutinous first officer.

These men would never learn, she realized. They would never think what they had done was wrong. At least the real Equinox crew understood that.

* * *

B'Elanna Torres materialized in the middle of Engineering. This was a much smaller ship, and didn't need an engraved invitation to figure out where the warp core was. She sprinted over to it, hearing Seven's footsteps behind her. Despite her occasional frictions with the ex-Borg, B'Elanna was glad she was there. Seven took efficient duty seriously. She could go blonde hunting; B'Elanna would shut down the warp core before everything went kaboom.

The first thing she saw was a pair of legs sticking out from the doorway. She went over to the body and examined it in with the light mounted on her wrist. A phaser burn marred the front of the uniform. Her light played over a face slack in death. He looked like Noah Lessing, but Lessing was on _Voyager. _She knew. She'd seen him in sickbay when Tom had been shot.

He was clearly dead now; she didn't need a tricorder to tell her that. If he was dead, he wasn't priority. There were more important things to deal with.

She sprinted to the main control panel and tilted her head. The warp core itself looked completely normal; there were no modifications that had puzzled her so before. It didn't look quite like Starfleet issue, but it was close enough. Besides, if she didn't get the damn thing shut down, she wouldn't have any time to wonder.

It was at eighty-five percent and rising. She brought up the LCARS panel and tried to shut it down.

"Please enter security code," the computer said calmly.

"Override security code!" B'Elanna said. "Chief Engineer's authorization."

_Bloooop-palurp. _"Chief Engineer's voice print not confirmed."

_I'm an idiot. I'm not Chief Engineer on this ship; Gilmore is. _

"_tojo'Qa_," she swore under her breath. "Computer, initiate emergency warp-core ejection." Any engineer on _Voyager _could do that; in an emergency situation you didn't always have time to run to Mama for permission.

"Please enter security code."

There were times she really hated computers. It was a slick move, though. Had Gilmore ever been in the Maquis? That was one of their tricks. She bit her lip. The captain was counting on her, and B'Elanna didn't want to let her down.

"Any luck, Seven?" she hollered.

Seven cast her eyes around Engineering and frowned. Then she bent down and opened up the hatch to a Jefferies tube. A figure crouched inside.

"She is here," Seven said emotionlessly. "Crewman Gilmore, we are here to return you to _Voyager." _

B'Elanna could hear faint sobbing from the tube. That was weird; Gilmore was usually the silent type. The figure began to crab-walk backwards, away from them.

Well, perhaps she was afraid of Seven. Who knew what these guys had done to her? B'Elanna abandoned the panel and strode over.

"Gilmore, it's me. Lieutenant Torres. Come out of there."

She bent down and peered into the dark tube. Marla Gilmore was hunched low, one hand clutching a phaser. Her face was pinched and terrified. Her eyes were wide and staring. Tears and sweat tracked through the grime on her cheeks. Her expression was vacant and staring. Her right sleeve had ridden up, and B'Elanna could see bruises on her wrist. After a moment, her eyes swiveled to meet B'Elanna's. She cringed away in fear and slid herself backwards, further into the tube.

"Gilmore, listen to me," B'Elanna said. "What's the code? Look, smooth move with that code bit, you'd have done great in the Maquis with that. We're here to help you. Come on out and give me the code." She extended a hand into the entrance.

She expected Gilmore to take her hand and get out of the tube. What was the deal? Gilmore hated Jefferies tubes anyway. She'd go in them if she had to, but she hated them.

Gilmore squinched her eyes shut and shrieked. The phaser wavered. B'Elanna took a cautious step back. The captain had said she was doped up, but B'Elanna hadn't ever expected _this. _

She turned to Seven. "Go around to the other side of the tube and cut her off," she said quietly. Seven nodded once and strode across Engineering. B'Elanna let air hiss out between her teeth. She wasn't any good at this psychobabble crap; other people could talk down loonies with phasers better than she ever could. Patience wasn't her strong suit.

"Go away," Marla said, and she sounded terrified. "Go away, I destroyed it, I didn't mean to shoot him, just leave. Let me do my penance."

"What the hell are you talking about?" B'Elanna flared, and then forced herself to choke it off. _Be nice. Get her out of there, get her calmed down and get the code. _"We're here to help you." She tapped her combadge. "Torres to Janeway."

"Go ahead," came the immediate response.

"I've located Gilmore. She's locked out the console with a security code. She won't give it to us."

"On my way," Janeway said briskly.

The exchange didn't seem to be what her ex-crewman wanted to hear. Marla aimed the phaser at her with a shaking hand and began to sob.

"_NOT HER,_" Marla shrieked. "_I DID IT. DON'T GIVE ME TO HER. STOP JUDGING ME!" _

B'Elanna Torres knew she had a temper; she'd spent no small amount of time trying to control it. No one else on _Voyager _had threatened to rip out anyone else's tongue and wear it as a belt, to her knowledge. Her first impulse had been to drag Gilmore out of the tube and ask questions later.

Now it seemed it was going to have to come to that. Gilmore talking nonsense was bad. Gilmore talking nonsense and waving a phaser around was worse. B'Elanna clenched her teeth.

_It's not her fault, she's not rational right now, and the captain wants her and the ship saved, so let's see if we can do this with a minimum of violence, okay? _

"Marla," she asked, summoning up patience from somewhere, "just calm down and tell me what you're doing. Okay? Can you tell me that?"

The other woman's pupils were _huge, _even given the darkness of the engine room. There was just a rim of blue around the black. Her face was slack and far away. "Cleansing," she said haltingly. "Penance."

"How about you do that out here?" B'Elanna suggested, trying to smile and not have it look like a Klingon rictus.

"Go away," Marla said with pathetic desperation in her voice. "Just go away. I didn't mean to shoot him. I destroyed it. Just go away, go away, let me cleanse, let me--,"

_All right. I tried to do this nicely. _"Do penance. I know," B'Elanna said, and reached into the tube. She grabbed Marla's right wrist and pulled her forward. Behind the crazed engineer, she could see Seven crawling towards them. Marla shrieked and tried to pull away. B'Elanna held on grimly, aware that Marla didn't seem to be able to muster much more strength than her infant daughter Miral. In both human and Klingon cultures, fighting the weak was considered dishonorable. She didn't feel too good about this, but when the weak happened to be waving a phaser around and shrieking nonsense, you took the phaser away from the weak and made the weak get out of the goddamn Jefferies tube and _then _you could be all nice-nice.

Even on her best day, Marla Gilmore would not have won a fight with B'Elanna Torres, and this wasn't her best day. B'Elanna pried the phaser out of her hand and tossed it away. She reached back to grab the back of Marla's collar with one hand and her wrist with the other. Seven was behind her and began to push her out.

She had the scruff of Gilmore's uniform in one hand; Captain Janeway would likely not approve of dragging the engineer out by her hair. Suddenly Marla's head flashed down and pain bolted up B'Elanna's arm. She stared into the tube and felt anger course through her veins.

"You _bit _me," she breathed. "Oh, _now _I'm gonna--,"

Marla let out another shriek and kicked at Seven feebly. B'Elanna forced herself to choke off her temper. . _Get her out of there, get the code, then let's shut down the warp core, or otherwise we'll just get the hell off the ship before it goes boom. _

Marla wasn't able to fight back particularly well, but it just wasn't that easy to force someone out of a Jefferies tube when they didn't want to go, particularly when you were taking pains to avoid hurting them. There was probably a Starfleet procedure for it. If there was, they were probably failing it miserably. She firmed up her grip on the nape of Marla's neck and one hand; Seven was trying to shove her forward. If the situation hadn't been so grim, she would've laughed. Tom would have loved it, she supposed. Mixed-Species Tag Team Blonde Jefferies Tube Wrestling. Hubba hubba.

_It would be a lot easier to just drag her out by the hair, _B'Elanna thought. _Not to mention more satisfying. _

Yet one drugged and weakened human couldn't hold out forever against a half-Klingon and a former Borg drone, and bit by bit they made headway in getting her out. B'Elanna heard running footsteps approaching them and let go of Marla's arm to grab her phaser rifle. Aiming with one hand wouldn't be easy, but she could do it if she had to.

Captain Janeway strode into Engineering and observed the scene in front of her. B'Elanna Torres sitting just outside of the Jefferies tube, one hand on her rifle, the other clamped down on the back of Marla Gilmore's uniform. Marla Gilmore was on her hands and knees, still fighting feebly, halfway out of the tube. She was shrieking and bawling in complete hysteria. Behind her, Seven of Nine crouched. Her left arm was wedged against the backs of the engineer's knees to impede kicking. Her shoulder was pressed against Marla's rump to push her forward. It was probably an efficient way of shoving, but it looked like something out of a Ferengi adult holonovel.

The captain's upraised eyebrows spoke volumes. When Marla Gilmore saw the captain, she stopped shrieking and fell silent as the dead. The color drained from her face and she stared at the captain with dread and terror. She redoubled her efforts to back into the Jefferies tube. B'Elanna sighed. This wasn't her proudest moment as a Starfleet officer.

"Status," Kathryn Janeway said thinly.

B'Elanna sighed. "Here she is. She's not cooperating. I don't know what they did to her, but we have to get off this ship unless she gives us the code."

"I see," Janeway said archly, and strode over to where the three were ingloriously exiting the Jefferies tube. B'Elanna didn't think that the captain would have any more success than she'd had; Gilmore was just too damn far gone for that. Once, in the Maquis, they'd liberated some confederates who had been held on a Cardassian ship for interrogation. Nobody had been able to talk to them, either, not for a while. All Chakotay had been able to do was secure them in quarters and wait until they came out of it. That wasn't a luxury they had on _this _ship.

She watched the captain squat in front of Marla. Marla flinched and covered her face with her hands. Captain Janeway pulled them down firmly but kindly.

"Marla." The captain's voice was calm. "I know you're frightened. I know what you've been through. We're here to help you. This isn't _Equinox, _and you're not in the Delta Quadrant. Give us the codes."

Gilmore flinched and looked away. "You'll have to destroy me to obtain them," she slurred in a strangely disconnected voice.

Behind her, a slightly mussed Seven of Nine emerged from the Jefferies tube. She seemed to understand what the hell Gilmore was talking about, which put her one up on B'Elanna. Nothing Gilmore had said made any sense to her.

"She is mimicking my words from my time on _Equinox." _Seven slid forward and tried to catch the engineer's eyes with her own. "Marla Gilmore, your analogy is flawed. We do not wish to destroy you. You have no cortical implant to remove. Give us the code and we will shut down the warp core and return you to _Voyager." _She paused. "Your reaction is irrational. We require the codes. Comply."

_You forgot 'Resistance is futile', _B'Elanna thought sourly. "Captain, that warp core is at ninety-six percent and rising fast. It might hold for a couple of minutes, but if we don't get that code _now, _we have to evacuate."

"Understood, B'Elanna. I want to save this ship if I can." She turned back to Marla. "I know what these people did to you. I don't know what they told you, but they lied. We came here to help you. We don't want you to do this. I'll beam everyone back if I have to, but please...just trust me."

"Cleansing. Penance." Marla slurred the words again, still flinching as if Janeway was a figure of terror. B'Elanna tensed and fought the urge to slap her combadge and demand an immediate beam-out. She knew her captain wanted to save the ship, but watching the gauges creep up towards one hundred percent was making her damned nervous.

Janeway seemed to make more sense out of that than she had. "Rudy Ransom did his penance," she said. Her voice was firm but kind. "He didn't expect you to do that. He was the captain. You weren't. He sent you to _Voyager _because he wanted you to live. We'll take you back to _Voyager, _we'll get you to sickbay, and we'll help you. Now trust me. I'm your captain. I don't expect you to do that, either. Give me the code."

For a moment she thought Gilmore might spill it. At least it seemed to register. Then the blonde woman shook her head and looked away.

B'Elanna's fingers clenched. "Captain, we don't have much time," she repeated.

"Then beam back to _Voyager. _I'm not giving up this ship until I absolutely have to. It's evidence."

The order nettled her, as she supposed the captain knew it would. The sudden rush of transport made her ears prick. Who the hell had beamed over here? "Captain, was someone else supposed to be here?"

Captain Janeway maintained her calm. "No. Go see who it is." Her voice was low and calming, but B'Elanna had worked under Captain Janeway too long not to recognize the phrase _and bring your phaser _silently attached to the order.

Nervousness chewed at her throat as she strode towards the sound of the transporter. The warp core was at one hundred percent. Pretty soon, things were going to rupture, and the place was going to fill with toxic plasma gas. Shortly after that the entire vessel would explode. It was damned hard to obey the order. All she had to do was call for a beam-out and Captain Janeway could continue her heartwarming chat on _Voyager. _

A figure appeared in the doorway and raised its hands. B'Elanna pointed the phaser at it anyway.

"Who are you and what are you doing here?"

Noah Lessing stepped forward and smiled calmly. "It's all right, Lieutenant. I'm Noah Lessing, and I'm here to help my friend. I'm not armed. "

He stepped forward, his eyes on hers. He wore civilian clothes; she was pretty sure he was the real deal. The dead guy on the floor wasn't him. Weird that they hadn't used a hologram for that. She remembered Tom telling her about his holocall with Lessing, and how he'd finally come across and done the right thing. She could respect that. Without a word, she lowered the rifle and gestured for him to pass.

"Mr. Lessing," the captain said. "Who authorized you to transport to this ship?"

Lessing chuckled. "No one did, now that you mention it," he said. "I just did it. I've had experience. I hear you need some help."

From the sharp exhalation, B'Elanna knew that Mr. Lessing was likely going to have a chat with the captain on the subject of rules. Or could she do that? He was a civilian now, after all.

Noah Lessing crossed the engine room and looked around. He shuddered as if old memories were coming back to haunt him. He muttered something under his breath that B'Elanna couldn't catch.

"Man," he said. "They got this place down cold." But he went to where Marla Gilmore crouched. He sat down on the deck and held her upper arms.

"You're dead. I killed you," Marla Gilmore informed him flatly, and stared at him with wide, uncomprehending eyes.

Noah smiled and shook his head. "I'm not dead," he said. "That was some guy who _looked _like me. But it wasn't me. Did he know about how you kept the warp core going when the Krowtonans attacked? Did he help you keep life-support going when the Karnaii shut down main power? Did he comfort you when Duroz died?" He shook his head.

"I was there with you, Marla. _Equinox _is gone. This isn't _Equinox. _There are bad people out there, and they hurt both you and me...but Captain Janeway isn't one of them." He took a deep breath, as if this was difficult to say.

"They're on the level, Marla. Trust me. You know I'd never lie to you. _Voyager's _here to help. If they weren't I'd be phasering them all."

B'Elanna Torres summoned a great deal of will to bite down on the phrase _Just you try, _which desperately wanted to escape her mouth. That could wait.

"Give her the code, Marla. It's all right. Trust me. This--," he indicated the ship, "this is just one big flying _lie. _Janeway and Torres and Seven – they're telling you the truth. Listen to me. Listen to my voice. It's all gonna be okay. Give them the code."

Marla Gilmore stared at her former crew mate blearily, looking like she desperately wanted to believe. Her mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. Her tongue darted out and licked her lips.

"The code," Lessing said. "Trust me. Trust them. She's not lying."

_If she starts up with that cleansing and penance crap again, I'm calling for a beam-out no matter what the captain wants, _B'Elanna Torres thought.

Instead, Marla looked at the deck, swallowed, and let out a long, sobbing breath.

"Seven...four...six...,"

"Five-six?" Janeway prompted.

B'Elanna clamped her eyes shut and wanted to smack herself. _I am an absolute fucking idiot. I can't believe I didn't think of that. _Seven-four-six-five-six. As in NCC-74656, the registry number of _USS Voyager. _

"Code accepted," the computer announced in a calm voice, and obediently displayed the emergency warp shutdown screen. B'Elanna pawed at the controls, taking the warp drive offline. A great wave of relief swept over her as the numbers began to fall from one hundred two percent down to ninety, then eighty, then on down to zero.

Captain Janeway let out a long breath. "You're a good man in the clutch, Mr. Lessing. Your vote of confidence is much appreciated."

Lessing smiled a cool smile. "We're all in this together," he said simply.

B'Elanna let out her own relieved sigh. "Warp core is offline, captain."

Janeway nodded and stood up. She tapped her combadge. "Janeway to Voyager._" _

"_Voyager _here," Chakotay responded.

"Any sign of the cloaked vessel?"

"Negative. Weapons fire ceased when we boarded _Equinox." _

"Understood. Prepare for beam-out." Janeway cut contact and looked around thoughtfully. B'Elanna knew the look; she was suspecting something.

"It's still out there," Janeway said reflectively. "This was too easy."

The words escaped her before she could catch them. "You think that was _easy?_" B'Elanna smiled abashedly and added, "Captain."

Janeway nodded slowly. She turned to Seven. "Sev—_Annika_—can you detect any sign of mutagenic particles here?"

Seven recovered a tricorder and scanned the engine room briefly. "No," she announced shortly. "There is no trace of mutagenic particles here. The warp core appears to be normal. There is no evidence of enhanced warp."

Janeway's face cracked in a small smile. "So our prodigal daughter _did _come home," she said thoughtfully.

She rose to her feet and looked thoughtfully at Marla Gilmore, clearly weighing something in her mind. Without a word, she took off her own combadge and put it on the other woman's uniform. Then she walked over to a corner, lifted another combadge, and flipped it over to look at it thoughtfully for a moment. She walked over to where the dead man lay, observed him for a moment, and then put it on him.

When she returned to where Marla Gilmore still sprawled, Gilmore flinched but didn't otherwise react. Janeway tapped the combadge.

"Janeway to Tuvok. I want you to take command of this ship."

"Understood, Captain," Tuvok replied

B'Elanna realized what it was her captain meant to do and smiled. Janeway tapped the combadge again to reach _Voyager. _

"Tuvok will remain in command of this ship," she instructed. "Beam Ransom and Burke to transporter room one. Have security guards waiting to escort them to the brig. They can chat with their buddy. Beam everyone in Engineering to transporter room two." She smiled tightly. "Energize."

* * *

Kilbourne had been listening to all communications from the captured _Grambyo. _It didn't matter. He still could win.

"Sir," his electronic warfare agent said. "I've got access to their transporters."

Kilbourne nodded. "Good. We'll divide this up fair and square. Let the _Voyager _crew go back to their ship. Divert Ransom, Burke, Lessing, and Gilmore here. Then lock down _Grambyo _and we'll just take care of _Voyager._"

"Aye, sir," the electronic warfare agent said, and worked his console. "Diverting to our transporter room now."

Kilbourne smiled. "Transporter room?" he asked.

The transporter chief's voice sounded puzzled. "Uh...sir...we've got Ransom and Burke...,"

Kilbourne's voice remained calm. Only those who knew him well realized he was angry. "And?" he prompted.

"We've got Lessing, but he's dead. Phaser to the chest, it looks like. I don't have Gilmore at all." Kilbourne could hear the transporter chief frantically working his console to figure out what had gone wrong.

"Okay," the transporter chief said, sounding nervous. "Janeway must've put her combadge on Gilmore. The pattern looks that way. Then she must've grabbed onto someone and _Voyager's _buffer kicked on."

Kilbourne let air hiss out from between his teeth. "And where is Miss Gilmore, then?" he asked archly. The bridge crew trembled, knowing that when this was over, the transporter chief would be lucky to be working in a dilithium mine far from the centers of the Federation. Section 31 did not treat failures kindly.

"On _Voyager," _the transporter chief admitted nervously.

"I see," Kilbourne said in a bloodless voice that promised a horrible fate. "Electronic warfare? Can you get her back?"

The electronic warfare agent's fingers flew over his console. "No," he said finally. "They must've realized when we got Ransom and Burke. I'm locked out."

Kilbourne gritted his teeth, a rare sign of anger. Janeway could be a sneaky little minx when she wanted to be. Fine, then. This was cutting too close to the bone. It would end here.

"Weapons agent," he said precisely, "you have their shield frequencies, don't you?"

"Aye, sir," his weapons agent said.

"I want a full spread of torpedoes and phasers. Then keep it up until that ship cracks like a china egg. Helm, keep us moving, standard evasive pattern. Once we cripple the ship we'll go get Gilmore, then we'll kill the rest of them off." He swiveled in his chair and glared openly at the starship on the screen. That starship's crew should have just been willing to smile and wave for the crowds and leave Marla Gilmore to pay her debt to society in the best way she could. Operations security had been far too stretched here.

Kilbourne bared his teeth at the ship and imagined it as it would be in a few minutes: with gaping holes in the hull and kl axons blaring. They wanted a warp core breach? He'd give 'em one.

"Fire," he snapped.


	16. Hors de Combat

_Author's note: _

_Glad you all liked B'Elanna's POV and the Jefferies tube wrestling matches. _

_ JadziaKathryn: Glad you liked the chapter. It wasn't so much to depersonalize the characters as a) it's a little late in the game to introduce a whole slew of Section 31 crew and b) I was being lazy. :) _

_ Katharina-B: Yes, that's all they have to do, isn't it? Well, here's where that starts. I figured Noah would help Marla (along with everyone else), so he did. _

_Webster82: B'Elanna was fun to write (she and Seven are probably the least qualified to help a crewman having psychological issues, so I figured they ought to be the ones to go after her.) _

_Brigid: It is quite an image, isn't it? I couldn't resist. _

The ship rocked and trembled under the onslaught of quantum torpedoes. Kathryn Janeway had been in command of this ship for a long time, and she knew that wasn't good. By the time she gained the bridge, the atmosphere had become determined and grim. The bridge was bathed in flaring red light.

She'd transported back to _Voyager _only to discover that she had been right; her prisoners had not beamed back with her. Gilmore had. That had pleased her; she'd suspected that the cloaked ship would track them by combadge just as _Voyager _normally did. Putting her combadge on Marla had done the trick. Bashir and their EMH could handle Gilmore for right now. She'd gotten back her prodigal crewman; now she had to make sure that the rest of them didn't get blown to smithereens. Ransom and Burke were the least of her problems right now.

Marla Gilmore's lonely battle had ended. Kathryn Janeway's had not. She still had to defeat the other ship.

"Tactical status," she ordered as she entered the bridge. Chakotay vacated the captain's chair and moved to his own.

"That last volley went right through our shields," he said grimly.

"Damage?" Janeway asked.

He consulted a console. "Heavy damage to the hull on decks 9, 10, and eleven, but it's holding. For now."

"Remodulate the shields," Janeway ordered. "Harry, any sign of that ship?"

Harry Kim scowled at his screen. "Nothing. They can hit us and we can't see them at all." He frowned. "Captain, there's strange activity in the computer system. I saw it just before you beamed back. Locking it out now."

Janeway paused. Just before she'd beamed back...and Ransom and Burke had been mysteriously whisked away. Another explosion rocked the ship.

"Shields remodulated and holding at sixty percent...only minor damage," Harry reported.

"Back us off from _Equinox," _Janeway said. So far, their unseen enemy had not fired on the _Nova-_class ship. She understood that; _Equinox – _or whatever ship it really was – couldn't see them either, and _Voyager _was the bigger threat of the two. If she lost, the cloaked ship would be able to mop up the survivors on _Equinox _at its leisure.

It was unnerving. Sensors couldn't pick up a thing. Then, four little specks would appear on the viewscreen, jetting silently towards _Voyager. _Firing phasers at that position never worked. All they could do was play defense; Tom was performing evasive maneuvers as best he could, and the shields were holding, but this was a battle they couldn't win. How could you fight an enemy you couldn't see?

Chakotay gave her a concerned look. "Maybe we should retreat," he said quietly. "We've got Gilmore. If we put some distance between us and them, make it to Deep Space Nine, they might back off."

Janeway bit her lip. It was sound advice. It was doubtful the other ship could match their maximum warp anyway, and it certainly couldn't do it while it was cloaked. If they stayed here, they might lose that advantage. She could have her away team beamed back to the ship and get out of there.

But if she did that, then these men would simply get away, except for the one in her brig. They'd be free to try their evil deeds again. They hadn't found enhanced warp technology on the ship, but she didn't know what they _did _have. Cutting and running had its own dangers.

She wanted these men to face justice for what they had done. They had already kidnapped and stolen. They had planned mass murder on a planetary scale. Men like this had to be stopped. No, she could not retreat here. The job was not finished.

"No," she said resolutely. "Keep scanning. Look for venting plasma, energy readings, anything we can use to get a weapons lock."

The ship slewed again as Paris swung around sharply and the inertial dampers couldn't keep up. Those damn torpedoes kept following them. Each one carried three times the explosive force of a photon torpedo, and their foe was good about keeping close enough that they had a hard time shaking any of them.

"Shields down to forty-two percent," Kim reported grimly.

"They'll hold," Janeway said just as grimly.

Another torpedo blast shook the ship. Klaxons sounded.

"Fore shield has collapsed!" Kim said.

"Paris, turn us about! Harry, get those shields back online!" Janeway shouted.

Tom Paris wrenched the ship to one side, and managed to coax just another few meters out of the ship, enough that the incoming volley of torpedoes struck the battered aft shields. Harry Kim stared at his console, his fingers flickering over the panel, trying to bring the shields online.

"One more hit on the aft shields and we'll be defenseless," Chakotay said, and his eyes stared into hers, knowing the choice she had to make.

"How long until the fore shields are back online?" she asked.

Harry did not look up from what he was doing. "Forty-five seconds."

Janeway eyed the viewscreen. One more volley of four quantum torpedoes was incoming, and another was not far away. Whoever had the conn of that cloaked ship was quick. She didn't need Chakotay to tell her the status of the battered aft shields; she could see it herself.

An eerie whine permeated the bridge. It didn't seem quite machine-made, and yet it was far from natural. Kathryn Janeway felt her blood chill. The siren call of the alien life forms that first the _Equinox _crew, and now Section 31, had killed to fuel the enhanced warp device was far too familiar.

"Captain, we _have _to withdraw," Chakotay said, and from his pallor she could tell he knew what it was too.

_They can't do this. Not now. Don't they know we were the ones who saved them? _

"Dimensional fissures opening on decks four, five...and one," Harry said.

Chakotay continued to press his case. "We have a cloaked hostile ship out there, and if they hit us a few more times we're finished. If the aliens take down our shields, we're dead. This is a battle we can't win."

Just behind Tom Paris's station at the helm, a yellowish hole in reality began to form. Janeway stared helplessly at it. Her bridge crew was not armed. They would have nothing to defend them against the creatures. _Equinox _was too far away to be of any help.

"Security to the bridge. Bring hand phasers for the bridge crew." she ordered. "Everyone keep calm."

Her eyes met Chakotay's. Was he right? She had Marla Gilmore; she had _Equinox. _She could flee with her prizes, or simply destroy _Equinox _along the way and beam her boarding party back. She had already won.

Or had she? There wasn't any sign of enhanced warp on the fake _Equinox. _That didn't mean the technology wasn't in Section 31's hands. Marla Gilmore had been more or less psychotic when brought on board. The doctors would have her in sickbay, but she wouldn't be able to supply the information that Kathryn Janeway would need before she could be at peace with the decision to flee. What _did_ they have? Could they build the device on their own?

"I have an idea," she said stubbornly. "We need to see this through."

"We _can't _see it through," Chakotay said. "We have what we came for."

The risks were clear. If she stayed in battle, she might lose her crew to the aliens or to the cloaked ship. These people had served her loyally for seven years in the Delta Quadrant, and she had gotten them home. Would they all die here?

If she ran prematurely, she might be condemning billions of Romulans to death. The entire quadrant could be forever changed. Could she live in a Federation that had won its prominence through two genocides?

The choice was momentous. It had to be now. On this ship, in the next few minutes, the history of the Federation might be decided.

"Open a channel to _Equinox,_" she directed. "And get me Seven. Tom, try and dodge those torpedoes."

"What are you planning to do?" Chakotay asked.

* * *

Kilbourne grinned fiercely at his viewscreen. _Voyager _was taking a pounding. That helmsman was doing a decent job of trying to dodge the torpedoes, but enough were hitting that he didn't need to worry. Eventually, their shields would buckle. He had plenty of quantum torpedoes. Even so, it was a shame to kill a helmsman who could make that ship dance like a pretty woman.

"Prepare an armed boarding party," he directed. "Take us in, closer. It's time to take them out."

Ransom and Burke stepped onto the bridge and looked around timidly. Kilbourne eyed them for a moment and felt his placid, calm exterior return. That was for the best.

"Gentlemen," he said.

"Mr. Kilbourne, I--," Ransom began.

"I'm not angry at you," Kilbourne said. He could afford to be merciful, couldn't he? In a few minutes more, Marla Gilmore would be back in his custody. A few minutes after that, there wouldn't be anything left of _Voyager _larger than an isolinear chip.

A strange-sounding whine echoed through the spyship. Agents looked up nervously, wondering what it was. Ransom paled.

"Those are the aliens," he said. "They're trying to break through."

"Our shields are fine," Kilbourne said. He turned and cleared his throat. "Ops agent?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Is _Grambyo's _field generator online?"

The ops agent scanned the smallest ship. "Yes."

Kilbourne shrugged. "See? Take us to five hundred meters off _Grambyo's _port. Match their shield frequency." He glanced at Ransom. "Happy now? They can't even see us. If they could, we have our shields. If that doesn't work, we'll be protected the same as _Grambyo _is." He chuckled.

"_Voyager _has lost their fore shields," the weapons agent said. "Aft shields are pretty low."

Kilbourne adjusted himself in his seat. "One more volley ought to do it, then. Target their engineering hull. Gilmore will be in sickbay. Blow a hole in the hull and then we'll beam aboard our party and retrieve what belongs to us."

"Aye, sir. Torpedoes launched."

Kilbourne chuckled. "Now, it ends."

* * *

She'd made her decision, and now it was time. All cards on the table, now. A quick hail to _Equinox, _a momentary question of Seven, and phasers handed out as damn quickly as she could.

"Harry, when I give the word, throw everything you've got into the shields,"

Chakotay's lips were pressed into a thin line. "You're betting _everything_ on this," he said in a tone that clearly added _and you're absolutely insane to do that _to the end of the sentence.

"I know what I'm doing," she said. "Now...here's where it ends."


	17. Darkness and Light

_Author's notes:  
  
eScapefreak: If Chakotay didn't argue with the captain when she endangered her crew for the higher cause, then where would we be? Odds are liability insurance premiums for USS Voyager are expensive enough already...._

_Katharina-B: Tension? Cliffies? Moi? You think these are bad? In some of my Hannibal fics I had cliffies at the end of every chapter. Well, there isn't one here, so you ought to be pleased, but there is a surprise._

No one on the bridge spoke. The fissure grew larger, slowly, that eerie whine echoing in everyone's ears. Two security officers had joined the bridge. Every officer held a phaser. Eyes flicked back and forth between the viewscreen and the fissure.

An alien figure slid gracefully from the fissure and looked around. Janeway held her breath and kept her phaser handy but did not fire. It saw her – at least she _thought _it did – and flew towards her in a hurried arc. The security officers raised their phasers and aimed them at the creature. She could feel sweat trickling down her back and bit her lip. The image of those dessicated crewmen on _Equinox _flashed across her mind. Even so, she raised a shaking hand. Her voice sounded dry and cracked.

"No one fire," she directed.

The creature hovered just a few feet away. It looked around the bridge, looked at Kim, and seemed to be thinking. Then it stretched out its arms imploringly and emitted an inhuman shriek, exposing needle-like teeth.

"Maybe it wants a hug," Tom Paris said, glancing nervously over his shoulder.

"Belay it, Mr. Paris," Janeway replied, keeping her eyes on the creature. "Harry, get the universal translator on-line."

The creature eyed her thoughtfully. Was it suspicious? Did it recognize _Voyager_? Could it understand her? Was it just going to go on a killing spree, leaving a mass of Section 31 and _Voyager _crew alike as dessicated husks in its wake? There were no Ankari to serve as a go-between this time; the nearest Ankari would have been thirty years away at maximum warp. This time, the _Voyager _crew had to go it alone.

It stretched its arms out again, holding its long fingers out beseechingly. Another high-pitched screech made chills run down her spine. She swallowed nervously and felt her palms begin to sweat.

"We're trying to stop the ones who are killing you," she said. "Just as before. There's a ship out there that we can't detect. It's attacking us."

A computer beeped behind her. She didn't turn, keeping her eyes on the creature. Behind her, Kim cleared his throat.

"The universal translator thinks it's asking for our help," Kim said.

"Did it understand us?" Janeway demanded.

"I don't know. Their language is so different the universal translator is having trouble making sense of it."

She had little choice but to continue while she could. The creature would return to its own realm in a few seconds. She glanced over at Chakotay and then looked again at the creature.

"I've turned off the field generator on _Equinox_," she said. "They are not the ones who hurt you. Those are the people on the cloaked ship. If you can help us, we can stop them together. Can you see that ship from your realm? Help us find that ship. Help us end this."

The creature tilted its head and stared at her for a moment. It was pondering something. What she had said? How many it could kill? Could it understand? A computer console behind her offered its level best to translate her words into what they knew of the alien language, which wasn't much. They'd been able to break into some of their _Equinox _records, but most were still inaccessible.

"Incoming torpedoes," Ayala said from the Security station.

As if it understood, the creature turned and glided gracefully into its fissure. As soon as it had vanished, Janeway pointed.

"Shields! Now!"

The forward shields came to life, the numbers ticking up faster than she expected but slower than she would have liked. The aft shields remained down, for now. _Voyager _would face its foe.

"Shields at thirty-eight percent," Harry reported. It would be enough to take a few more blows.

"Hail _Equinox_," Janeway ordered. "See if the field generator is offline."

"_Equinox _reports field generator is offline," Ayala said a moment later.

Janeway eyed the viewscreen. There was still nothing there.

"We've got warp drive, for now," Chakotay murmured.

"Duly noted," Janeway said. "Just give it a minute or two."

* * *

On the _X5573, _Kilbourne frowned. _Voyager _had managed to get its forward shields up. Nothing had happened for a few moments. What were they doing? There were no signs of them abandoning ship or turning tail and fleeing. He had been afraid they might try that. He could destroy _Voyager _here in this little pocket of space; he couldn't very well do it in the middle of DS9.

"Sir," his ops agent said, "_Grambyo's _field generator is offline."

Kilbourne shrugged. The _X5573 _had a duplicate field generator of its own, just in case. "We have shields," he said. "It doesn't matter. It'll all be over in a few minutes. Weapons agent?"

"Torpedoes locked," his weapons agent said obligingly. Kilbourne nodded.

"Sir?" His ops agent frowned at his console. "I'm getting some _very _strange readings...,"

* * *

_The Spirits of Good Fortune knew. The Spirits of Good Fortune sought the light. _

_ Two years ago, thousands of light-years away, a ship named Equinox had begun to kill them. They had fought back, almost destroying their attackers. The crew of the Equinox had been hunted down almost to extinction. Then another ship had come across their path. They had built a device that the Spirits cursed: a strange device which bound them and effectively sentenced them to death in a foreign realm. _

_Now, it had started again. _

_ The Spirits had known that the killing had begun again as soon as it had started. But they had no power to fight back. They tried, only to discover that the device was back again, and any Spirit who ventured to fight back against being slaughtered was helplessly trapped. _

_ There seemed to be no options. If they did nothing, they were hunted, trapped, and killed. If they attacked, they simply died in greater numbers. The Spirits did not know of the test called Kobiyashi Maru, but they knew the no-win situation very well. _

_ From their own realm, they had frantically observed the differences between this time and the previous one. It was far away, as the other realm counted distance. There were two ships, not one. The humans on the ship called Equinox had survived somehow. Many were creatures of light, not flesh; the few times they tried to attack, their touch no longer killed. The humans simply flickered and resumed their normal activities as if nothing had happened. _

_ There were four humans on the ship who seemed to fear them. Things seemed to be far different this time. Before, all of the humans had acted as one, exterminating them. Now, they could see that the three men were treating the woman in a very strange manner. They disturbed her sleep and drugged her. When she was around, they acted as they had before. When she was not in their presence, they behaved very differently. It did not take long for the Spirits to realize that the woman was being deceived. Why was not something they could figure out; these humans' behavior was inexplicable. Those among the Spirits with a more darkly ironic bent noted that now, they were treating the woman just as the crew of the first Equinox had treated them – as a resource._

_ Bizarre as it was, the Spirits could not find a way to turn the situation to their advantage. One of them attempted to contact the woman. If she understood that things were not as she believed, perhaps she could help stop the killing – somehow. That, too, ended in failure and simply another death. _

_ The Spirits had reached the point of despair. There seemed to be nothing they could do to stem the tide. All they could do was hold on and watch their fellows tortured and slaughtered. _

_ Then they saw the approach of a familiar ship, a ship called Voyager, which had stopped the killing the first time. This had heartened the Spirits and given them hope. They had held off their attack as the crew of Voyager seized the Equinox. Then, the second ship had attacked Voyager. _

_ The Spirits were afraid; Voyager was the only ship they could trust. They had stopped the killing before. Yet it seemed they could not do so now; they could not see the dark ship. The Spirits could not see the ship itself, either. But they could exist in vacuum, and they could sense the fields of crackling energies that these ships used to protect themselves. _

_The decision had been made: they must contact Voyager before it was destroyed. _

_ Now, like small children assisting a blind man, the Spirits rushed towards the Equinox. The evil device had been turned off. They did not mean to attack it. They recognized the dark-skinned Vulcan who sat in command of Equinox. The shields of Equinox were up, but the Spirits did not intend to attack it. _

_ No, the Spirits of Good Fortune knew this: where the Equinox was, the dark ship would not be far away. If they had to die, better to die lighting the way for their champions. They ripped holes into the other dimension. They sought the light. _

_ Some of them were able to enter the other realm and return to their own safely. The cursed device aboard Equinox no longer bound them to die. They spread out, attacking in groups, seeking the dark ship, seeking to create light. _

_ The dark ship was not far. Some of the Spirits sensed the silent, thrumming energy of its shields. They flew for it as moths fly to a flame. They ripped open dimensional fissures and crashed against the shields. _

_ They could not break through yet; breaking down the shields of even the first, crippled Equinox had taken a great deal of time and lives. They did not intend to. As the Spirits' bodies crashed against the shields, energy and photons buckled. The shield generators on the ship detected and readjusted. But not before the Spirits' energies and the energies of the shields fought and mixed. _

_And they created light.  
_

* * *

It was the longest few moments of her life as she scanned the viewscreen. There sat _Equinox, _relatively at rest. She knew the bridge crew on it was busily working to see if there was any way to find the cloaked ship. Tuvok always sought the tactical advantage.

She almost missed the first one. It wasn't much; a tiny flare of light, about the same as one might expect from an emergency flare or a ship's running lights. It was close to _Equinox, _maybe five hundred kilometers, and off to the side. But it was there, and it was rapidly joined by others as the Spirits of Good Fortune ripped at the cloaked ship's shields. It was there, and there were swiftly more, and they could _see _it.

"Get a weapons lock on that!" Janeway said.

"No auto lock...wait. I have manual lock," Ayala said.

Janeway smiled tightly at the small bundle of flares on the viewscreen. Her hand came up unconsciously and made a fist. _Now _it was a fair fight.

"_Fire,_" she breathed.

The torpedoes from _Voyager _arced through space and struck the collection of sparks that had tormented them so. Barely a few seconds later, a matching set of torpedoes flew from _Equinox_'s torpedo tubes and struck the ship. She could make out the familiar ovoid shape of a shielded ship as the torpedoes detonated one by one.

It was small and hard to see; the ship itself was still cloaked. She would've guessed it to be about half the size of _Voyager, _maybe less. It wasn't even as big as the _Nova-_class vessel it had hidden behind.

"_That _thing kicked our butts?" Paris asked, staring at it even as he drew closer.

Janeway chuckled, grimly satisfied now that she had a chance to hit back. "It's not the size of the dog in the fight, Mr. Paris." She glanced over at Ayala. "Another volley," she directed. "Let's see how they like it."

* * *

The _X5573 _was a spyship. It could tail starships for weeks at a time and remain undetected. It was built to allow it to easily infiltrate heavily guarded areas to insert and extract personnel. Its sensors were better than the Starfleet norm. It could hold prisoners securely while Section 31 moved them back and forth. Marla Gilmore had spent most of her trip to this part of space unconscious within one of its maximum-security cells. It excelled at doing the things it was designed to do.

But it was not a ship built for battle. Its designers had anticipated that a spyship might find itself in combat. It had torpedoes and phasers. But while Starfleet captains stood and fought, Section 31 command agents usually took the approach of fleeing at maximum warp, cloaking, and going about their business once safely shielded from prying eyes.

The first volley of torpedoes were safely absorbed by the shields. A second round followed from _Grambyo. _Tuvok had ordered his crew to fire only scant seconds after his captain. _Grambyo _carried photon torpedoes, as he had been exacting in his deception operation. It was some small comfort on a ship that suddenly had very little.

Eight torpedoes in the space of thirty seconds would have hurt any ship, and the _X5573 _dipped and spun under the barrage. Kilbourne gripped the arms of his chair and bared his teeth. How had Janeway gotten a lock?

"Status!" he shouted. "Weapons agent! Return fire!"

His ops agent sounded urgent. Section 31 ships rarely saw combat. "Sir, our shields are down to twenty-eight percent. Those life forms are nibbling away at us."

"How the hell can they see us?" Kilbourne asked. "We're _cloaked_."

"They don't have to see us to run into us," the ops agent replied. "Maybe they can sense the shields somehow. Maybe they're just running around until they hit something. But when they hit us they're causing some kind of reaction, and _Voyager can see that._" He sounded resigned. "Sir, cloak is ineffective. They can see us."

Kilbourne sighed. Standing toe to toe with an _Intrepid-_class cruiser would have been suicide anyway. With aliens nibbling away at his shields, it was simply quicker.

"We have our own field generator," he said. "Bring ours online."

A slight hum indicated that his orders were being followed. Phaser fire lanced out.

"Sir, field generator is online...but...it's emitting patterns of radiation."

"Can they pick it up?" he asked.

"I'm not sure, sure...it's theta-band...initiating scan now."

Another small group of torpedoes launched from _Voyager _told him the grim facts: that the enemy ships could, in fact, track those patterns. His best advantage had been neatly checkmated. The cloak was useless. If he raised it, the aliens would lead Janeway to his ship. If he used the field generator to keep them at bay, _Voyager _could track that.

"Electronic warfare agent, try to seize control of _Grambyo's _computer systems," he ordered. "Anything you can do to distract them. Shut off life support. Initiate self-destruct. Whatever you have to do to get their attention off us for a minute."

Another explosion rocked the ship. For a few moments, the bridge was plunged into darkness. When the lights came back up, they were dimmer.

"Main power offline. Auxiliary is functional," his ops agent reported.

"I lost connection to _Grambyo _when main power went down," the electronic warfare agent said. "Re-establishing now."

_Dammit. _"Helm agent, get us out of here. Maximum warp."

Even as the helm agent began to obey, _Grambyo _and _Voyager _were both moving to intercept. Another blast rocked the spyship. Kilbourne sighed. Hadn't it been just five minutes ago that he'd been the one dishing out the pounding?

"Warp drive is down," someone said helplessly.

"So are phasers," someone else chimed in.

"They're hailing us," the agent at Communications said.

"On screen," Kilbourne said. "Block our video output; they can't see the inside of the ship. I'll give them audio."

The image of a redheaded woman appeared on the screen. She frowned at the screen, and Kilbourne knew why. She couldn't see anything except huge boxy pixels. He smiled. Janeway hadn't won everything yet.

"This is Captain Kathryn Janeway of the Federation starship _Voyager,_" she said sternly.

Kilbourne chuckled. "I'm aware of who you are, Captain."

"Lower your shields and prepare to be boarded. I'll fire again if I have to. Surrender your vessel."

He had no warp and no cloak. He had no phasers. Shields were at sixteen percent and dropping fast, the aliens nibbling away at them. He needed to buy some time.

"I can't let you do that, Captain," he said.

On the screen, Janeway smiled. "I'm afraid you don't have much choice," she said. "I can read my instruments. You don't have much left, Mr...?"

"Kilbourne," he volunteered his own name. She had earned that much.

"Kilbourne. Very well. Mr. Kilbourne, we know about the virus you've been bioengineering, and we know what you wanted Marla for."

Kilbourne chuckled. "You don't _know _anything, captain. There's no proof."

"There will be. Drop your shields or I'll open fire."

All the secrets on this ship had to be kept. That was greater than Janeway. Section 31 had a long and proud history of silence that had been venerated when Janeway was still in diapers.

"I'm not afraid of that," Kilbourne said easily. Then he sat back in his chair and adopted a relaxed posture. No ideas came to him. If he tried to ram their ship, it would be more likely to damage his ship than theirs. As they closed in, torpedoes became less and less of an option; their backblast would catch him, and he had those damned aliens whittling away at his shields.

There was only one thing he could do. He gestured for his comm agent to mute the connection. Without video, Janeway wouldn't know for a few moments.

"Get everyone to the escape pods," he said.

"They'll catch us," his ops agent noted.

"Yes. Standard procedure. Give your name, answer no other questions, request counsel. Janeway will play by the rules. She's too goody-two-shoes not to."  
  
He turned his head and glanced at Ransom and Burke, standing at the rear of the bridge. They were both leaving, obeying his order. Ransom stopped and looked at him, then down to the deck of the spyship.

"It's been an honor serving with you, sir," he said respectfully.

Kilbourne nodded.

"Tell me, Captain Janeway," he said, for he was legitimately interested in the answer. Why not? He wasn't going to get another chance to ask the question, was he? "You do realize...your Maquis crew are going to go back to prison – at least temporarily. You also realize you've disobeyed orders yourself. Your orders were to conduct a tour of the Federation; you should be on Vulcan. It could be that you're going to lose your command over this. "

"That's hardly your concern, Mr. Kilbourne. Lower your shields."

"No," Kilbourne answered. "Answer me first."

He turned and watched his agents depart the bridge, leaving him alone. It wasn't so bad. He'd had a full life. All the same, it was galling to end it this way. But he had been a Section 31 man for years; the agency was his life. He would stand up for it at the last.

The escape pods, like the ship, were painted in black microcoating. Most of them would be caught, he supposed. A few might get away. But his foe was principled, and that was an advantage for him. He just had to keep her talking long enough to let his crew get away. He pressed a button on his console and waited for the self-destruct screen to come up.

"I'm curious, Captain Janeway. Your Maquis _will _go back to prison. You could lose your command. And for what? Marla Gilmore? I reviewed your logs of the _Equinox _incident. Why did you take that kind of risk for a mass murderer?"

On the screen, Janeway seemed amused. "It wasn't just her, Mr. Kilbourne. Part of it was. _No one _deserves to be kidnapped and disappear into oblivion. That's not a Federation I want to be a part of. I won't let things like that happen if I can stop them. I'll pay the price if there is one to be paid."

This was easier than he thought. Janeway was like a lot of starship captains; if you gave them a podium to pontificate on, they'd blather on until next Wednesday. The self-destruct screen came up on his console.

"You haven't done any favors for the Federation today, Captain Janeway," he said. "We could have had peace and prosperity for decades to come. You took that away. Your grandchildren could have lived comfortable lives free of harm. Now...I guess we'll never know."

He tapped out the code necessary to begin self-destruct.

"You can't build peace and prosperity on a mass grave," Janeway said.

Kilbourne cut the connection. It was time. It was too bad it had to go this way. This operation would be a mark of shame for Section 31 for years. All he'd ever wanted was to keep the Federation safe. He cleared his throat.

"Computer, initiate self-destruct. Authorization Kilbourne. Activation code beta, beta, omega, thr--,"

Suddenly a form shimmered in front of him. It resolved into a blonde woman in a silver jumpsuit. Over one eyebrow a strange implant gleamed. She held a phaser pointed directly at him.

Kilbourne started, but he wasn't faster than photons. The phaser blast struck him in the chest. He felt his knees give and collapse to the floor. Seven strode over to him and looked at him calmly for a moment or two.

"You are not the only one who can gain unauthorized access to a ship's computer system, Mr. Kilbourne," she informed him, and raised an eyebrow.

He saw her reach for the console, and then he lost consciousness.


	18. Bargaining

_Author's note: _

_I'm glad everyone seems to like this little tale. Glad people liked the POV of the Spirits of Good Fortune; that could've turned out stupid but doesn't seem to have. Here's another chapter for you all. Renember Chakotay's hearing? Some things come into play from that... _

_JadziaKathryn: Will they find the escape pods? Here's where we find out. _

_Escapefreak: (whose name keeps getting autocorrected – I know it's little E, big S): Yes, Kathryn has saved the Romulans. _

_Katharina-B: Glad you liked the Spirits. Will Kilbourne get away? (jarring organ chord) Well, we'll have to see..._

_Webster82: See Katharina-B for the jarring organ chord. Will Janeway prove Section 31 exists? We'll have to see. _

_Saavik: Ironic, yes. Still, Seven needed a role other than extracting crazed engineers from Jefferies tubes...;) _

_PG, pongo, and BW: Thanks for your enthusiasm.. Glad you like the story. _

_Captain's log, Stardate 55035.2_

_These past two days have been extremely busy on Voyager. _

_We're docked at Deep Space Nine, undergoing repairs from our battle with the spyship. Mr. Kilbourne is in custody in our brig, along with those of his crew we were able to retrieve. Our officers have been aboard the spyship. _

_Ultimately, we've only got the hole of the donut. Virtually everything aboard the captured spyship was encrypted. We defeated them in battle, we have them in custody...and we can't even figure out how to unlock the helm. Mr. Tuvok and Seven have attempted to decrypt the codes, but found them extremely complex. According to Seven, even with all of Voyager's computing power, it would take us two thousand years to crack it. I know it's not Ransom in my brig, and I know that's not Equinox. Those are the only names I have for them; so far we can't put a real name on either the man or the ship. _

_The personnel have been of no more help. They have given names, which don't appear in any Federation database I can find. Fingerprints, DNA patterns, eye scans – none of it traces back to anything. They refuse to say anything more and have requested counsel. Unfortunately, I'm bound by Federation law, and even though I know it would be wrong to duplicate what I did with Mr. Lessing, it's tempting. Why can't there be a Marla Gilmore among them? _

_All we've been able to come up with is the notes that Ransom took on Equinox. It's frightening to read them. His job was to crack Marla Gilmore, and he went about it with scientific precision. Induced dizziness and nausea, REM sleep deprivation, psychological pressure, isolation, confinement, mind-probing techniques – it's all meticulously documented and arrayed. This sort of science has no place in civilized society. _

_I am pleased to discover that Marla held out far longer than they believed she would – far longer, in fact, than most people would in those circumstances. I am flattered that Section 31's Psyops division credits me with giving her that moral outlook – that even under the influence of heavy drugs, neural stimulation, and a carefully duplicated Equinox, she held out because she wanted to hold onto the morals that we showed her. _

_Starfleet Command has reacted quickly – almost too quickly. Starfleet Intelligence has arrived to take command of the spyship. I'm hoping they will have better luck, but frankly I'm loath to let that ship out of my sight. Commodore Bass., who has been in charge of the charges pending against my Maquis crew, will be arriving on DS9 as well. He's been more than fair. If he wanted to, he could have them all thrown in the brig of his ship and taken back to Earth in chains to stand trial. _

_Marla Gilmore and Noah Lessing remain on Voyager in guest quarters. Mr. Lessing seems none the worse for wear. The Equinox EMH has requested to defer his transfer to Jupiter Station while his former crewmates are on the ship, and it is a request I have granted. His technique of using an old transporter pattern to restore damaged organs – almost from backup, as it were – is truly revolutionary. It's been theoretically possible for years, but he is the only one who figured out how to do it in the real world. _

_It's odd – the Equinox EMH designed a procedure to process living beings into fuel, and yet his technique has the potential to save untold millions. Tremendous evil and powerful good all in the same skin – or photons, in his case. _

_Marla Gilmore herself is doing about as well as can be expected. She's coherent and knows where she is. Dr. Bashir has stayed on board to treat her. After the treatment she received from the EMH on board the false Equinox, she doesn't trust either of the EMH's we have on board. She's remained in her quarters since being released from sickbay. I haven't had the chance to speak with her, although I plan to. _

Kathryn Janeway took a sip of her coffee and paused reflectively. The door chime buzzed. "Pause log entry," she said. "Come."

Chakotay entered, looking somewhat nervous. "Commodore Bass will be here in half an hour," he said. "He said he'll take charge of the prisoners, and then he...well, he's going to talk about our cases. I imagine he'll want to talk to Gilmore, too."

She understood why he was nervous. Bass was the judge who would ultimately try him and the rest of the Maquis. She would take responsibility for them, but ultimately the decision rested with the commodore. She let out a sigh.

"All right," she said, and pushed back her chair. "I have to talk to her, then. Get her ready for it."

Chakotay nodded. "Dr. Bashir's with her now. You may want to talk to him, too. She's had a rough time of it."

"I know," Janeway said reflectively, and paused.

"Something wrong?"

"Well...have you seen the notes that Ransom took on you and me?" Janeway asked.

Chakotay shook his head. "I haven't had time," he said. "I've been getting the ship up and running, and meeting with my own counsel and trying to explain that I wasn't fleeing." He chuckled.

"I did," Janeway said reflectively. "Do you know that some of their psychologists thought that we wouldn't care if an _Equinox _crewman disappeared? That we would look the other way?"

Chakotay shrugged. "Then they didn't know us very well," he said. "I never cared too much what other people think about me. I'm the one who has to live with myself in the end."

She drummed her fingers on the desk. "You're right," she said. "Still, it bothers me. These people were brutal, but they were reasonable. They looked at the evidence and decided that. I shouldn't let it bother me, but it does."

Chakotay put his hand atop hers. "Kathryn, look at what you've done. I assure you, you've more than redeemed yourself for anything you might have done wrong."

"I know," she said, and sighed. Only around him could she ever lower the captain's shields. Those four pips on her collar meant that she always had to be sure of herself. The crew needed a captain they could have faith in. Chakotay had always been her sounding board, someone who she could safely lower those defenses around. She could tell him her doubts, her fears, her mistakes. That had been a very valuable and necessary thing throughout the lonely years in the Delta Quadrant.

"I wonder, though," she continued. "Did I help set any of this in motion? Was I too hard on the _Equinox _crew? I stood by the Maquis, but not them. If I could've done something differently...,"

He shrugged. "You can't be too hard on yourself," he said. "You wrote this Bass fellow on a few of their cases. You don't need to second-guess yourself, Kathryn. You took this crew from Vulcan to Bajor because you wanted to track down your errant crew." He smiled and raised his palms. "It's all turned out all right. Don't you think?"

"I hope so," she said.

Her combadge beeped, and she answered it.

"Captain to the bridge!"

She could tell by Harry Kim's voice that the situation was urgent. Getting up, she strode quickly to the bridge, Chakotay behind her. The bridge held an air of tension.

"Report," she said curtly.

"The spyship is gone," Harry said.

Her brow wrinkled. "What do you mean, gone?" she demanded.

Harry shrugged. "There were some officers from Starfleet Intelligence who were on it trying to decrypt its command codes. It looks like it cloaked and disappeared. It's just...gone."

Her lips twisted in anger. "Can you track it?" she asked.

"No," he said.

From the security station, Tuvok raised an eyebrow. "Unfortunate as this is, it is not surprising. The cloaking device aboard the ship was of excellent design. From what we do know about Section 31, it is likely that they would retrieve one of their ships in the event it fell into the hands of others."

Janeway sighed. "We still have the people, though. Maybe one of them will talk."

Perhaps Kilbourne knew something. Scotch that; he _definitely _knew something. What he would tell her was quite another thing. According to the schedule, she had an hour before Commodore Bass reached the ship. There would be enough time to check out Kilbourne and talk to Gilmore at the same time.

So she strode down to the brig. Most of the agents recovered from the spyship were in secured quarters on deck 9. Kilbourne was in the brig. She didn't want to take any chances. He was sitting on the bunk when she entered, his clothing neat and clean. He eyed for for a moment.

He really didn't look like much: a gray man. He was older, balding, and quite calm. No wonder he passed so easily through society. Your eyes just slid off him unless you knew what he was.

"Mr. Kilbourne," she said simply.

"Captain." Kilbourne dipped his head in a nod. "Is something wrong?"  
"Your ship seems to have disappeared," she said. "I want to know what you know about it."

"How would I know anything?" Kilbourne smiled. "I'm in your brig. Speaking of which, I did inform your security guard that I would like to speak to counsel and that I didn't want to make any statements until one was appointed."

"I'm well aware of your rights," she said coldly. "I assure you they'll be respected. Far more than you ever respected Marla Gilmore's."

It was damnable. She had been on his ship. She had him in her brig. And yet he was right: she couldn't interrogate him. She couldn't do even a hundredth of the things he had done to her crewman.

"You're not getting out of there until you tell me what you know," she said.

Kilbourne smiled and shook his head. "Actually, Captain, you're wrong, and you know it. You can't keep me in this brig forever. Eventually, I'll be transferred to Deep Space Nine's brig, or transported to Earth, or Vulcan, or Bajor...some other brig, in some other place. Beyond _your _control."

He was right, and she knew that, too.

"Tell me about your ship," she repeated.

She had an hour. In that hour she could put him in a cargo bay and fire up the Ankari summoning device and let the Spirits have a chat with him. She could lock him in an airlock and open the valves, letting the atmosphere out slowly and see if that jogged his memory. She could order Tuvok to mind-meld with him. She could let Noah Lessing and B'Elanna tag-team him; given the circumstances they would gladly put aside their differences to beat him to a pulp. She could shoot him with a phaser set on the lowest setting until the phaser burns made him a bit chattier.

But if she did any of those things, she would become him. She'd condemned Rudy Ransom for violating his oath; how could she do the same? How could she justify having punished the Equinox Five if she decided the ends justified the means, too?

"It's no longer under your control," Kilbourne said. "And that's all you need to know. Oh, don't worry. I'll have things to answer for. But really, Captain Janeway. I'll tell you this much. We have been around for longer than you have been alive. We were there when the first Enterprise was launched. Did you _really _think we didn't have contingency plans for when things went wrong?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Perhaps I can't eradicate Section 31," she said, "but I can assuredly deal with _you." _

"Perhaps," Kilbourne said. "Perhaps not. We'll have to see."

"Kilbourne, I've already informed the Romulans about the virus. I'm going to suggest they seek out mutagenic particles along the Neutral Zone," Janeway said sharply.

That seemed to surprise him. "Really?"

"Yes. Oh, don't worry. I didn't tell them why. I sent them the information I was able to retrieve from _Equinox's _computer. Yours was well encrypted, I'll give you that. _Equinox's _was not. Standard codes. My officers were able to crack those."

Kilbourne's eyes widened. He said nothing for several moments. Then he shook his head and looked at the floor.

"The Romulan attache aboard Deep Space Nine was most receptive," she added, and smiled coldly.

"You're not just a misguided idealist, are you?" he asked. "People like you would destroy the Federation. Don't you realize that not everyone in the galaxy shares your nicey-nice morals? It's people like me who protect the Federation so that people like you can live in it peacefully."

She gave him the glare that had intimidated plenty of errant crewmen over the years.

"How dare you," she said. "How _dare _you! I didn't live in the Federation for seven years, Mr. Kilbourne. I had to bring my ship and crew across seventy thousand light-years of space. Don't patronize me with your talk of how you protect me. I've seen your means of doing it. Kidnapping innocent people, torture, murder."

She leaned in very close to the force field, and if she'd had a phaser she would have shot him in a heartbeat, commodore coming or not.

"Call me a misguided idealist if you like, Mr. Kilbourne. I got one hundred forty-six souls safely home. I'm a starship captain. My crew looks to me, and I lead them as best as I possibly can. I don't want or need your protection. You're no patriot."

Kilbourne chuckled. "Ah yes, the righteous indignation," he said. "You've done the Federation no favors. Now, when war with the Romulans comes, people may die because you had to be a Girl Scout."

"And how many would have died if your scheme had succeeded?" she asked.

"Many. Billions, we projected. But _all enemies._"

She shook her head slowly. "So that justifies it?"

Kilbourne shrugged. "We're not going to see eye to eye on this subject, Captain. Let's make a deal. I'll spare you the 'the ends justify the means' speech; you spare me the 'we must do what is right' speech. I do salute you, though. You won against us, and that's not easy."

Janeway narrowed her eyes again and stood stolidly.

"Thank you," she said curtly. "I'll tell you again, though. I may not be able to get rid of Section 31, but I _will _get rid of you. I have your picture, your DNA sequence, your fingerprints. I'll broadcast them to the Romulans, the Cardassians, the Breen – anyone who would be interested. By the time I'm done with you you'll be better known across the quadrant than I am. Section 31 will have no choice but to dump you." She chuckled. "You can sue me for defamation of character if you want, but you'll be useless. And need I remind you, I have your victim in my custody. Do you think your fake Ransom and Burke will stand up for you? The crimes they committed can get you life in a penal colony."

He thought for a moment and smiled. "We'll see. They know what the risks are."

He didn't mention what Janeway feared most: that they would, eventually, be taken off the ship to some other form of imprisonment, and once out of her sight they would be quietly released. He didn't need to. It was clear on his face. She strove to keep her own face calm.

"I'd prefer to wait for my counsel before I say anything more," he said calmly, and lay down on his bunk, dismissing her. He closed his eyes and did not speak again.

Janeway stalked away from the brig, feeling empty and unfulfilled. She'd won this victory, and they had already taken some of it away from her. But she'd be damned if they took it all away. Political ramifications mattered nothing to her. This was about right and wrong.

She couldn't torture Kilbourne; she couldn't force him to talk. She could, and she planned to, destroy his usefulness to Section 31. She had a feeling that Ransom and Burke would break; they were psychologists, not warriors. Marla Gilmore could verify that they, indeed, had held her captive on a fake _Equinox. _That much she could prove. Perhaps facing long prison terms would get them to talk.

_If I were in his shoes, what would I do? _

Exactly what he was doing: shut up and wait. Did he have other agents under his command? Almost assuredly. He'd gotten his spyship back. She just knew it.

She would have to have guards placed around Marla Gilmore's quarters. The first thing she would do if she was in his shoes was eliminate the witness. Or perhaps bring her back into Section 31's custody.

She had to see Marla anyway. When they'd beamed her to sickbay, she had been in rough shape: crying, hysterical, and out of contact with reality. According to Dr. Bashir, they'd gotten her sedated and worked on flushing the drugs out of her system.

"Bridge to Captain Janeway."

She tapped her combadge. "Go ahead," she directed.

"Commodore Bass is here."

She sighed. "I thought we had an hour," she said.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, he must've made it here faster than we thought. He's in transporter room one."

She let out a hiss. "On my way," she said, and headed for the transporter room.

Commodore Bass was much as she remembered him from Chakotay's release hearing on Earth. He was tall and silver-haired; the picture of a distinguished Starfleet judge. He smiled at her with brilliant white teeth. Take away the uniform and he would make an excellent politician.

"Captain Janeway," he said. "It seems that you've had quite the exciting week."

"Of course, sir," Janeway said. That _sir _tasted odd in her mouth; she hadn't had to call anyone sir in the Delta Quadrant. "I'll assemble the Maquis."

It didn't take long to assemble everyone involved, and soon enough they were all in the conference room. Commodore Bass sat at the head of the table. He examined the Maquis and those Starfleet officers who had assembled to support their colleagues.

Some stared at him with sullen anger; others looked hopeful. This was the man who would determine their immediate fates. He looked them over calmly, not giving an inch.

"As you know," the commodore said, "all of you are on pretrial release. Your release conditions mandated that you keep the court apprised of your whereabouts. _Voyager _was supposed to be in orbit of Vulcan, conducting a goodwill tour. You are not. You are, in fact, closer to Bajor." His tone was stern.

Janeway cleared her throat. "Commodore," she said, "_Voyager _left Vulcan on my orders. These people are not responsible."

Bass turned his head and looked at her for several long moments. "Captain Janeway," he said icily, "you do realize that you were ordered to go on this goodwill tour."

"We had an intruder on board," Janeway said. "We had to investigate, and we discovered a plot by--,"

"I've heard," the commodore said. "The point is, you had obligations. I could, if I wanted to, order you all confined to the Starfleet Justice Annex back on Earth."

Janeway saw B'Elanna's lips twitch. For a moment her heart larruped in her chest. B'Elanna's temper was legendary. If she went off on the commodore, she'd end up back in jail until her daughter was old enough to go to Starfleet Academy.

"Commodore? Sir?"

_Here we go, _Janeway thought. "Lieutenant Torres--," she tried to interject.

"Commodore, we came here to help out one of our fellow crewmen. One under my command. Her name is Marla Gilmore. You might remember her, Commodore. You were presiding over her case, too. You decided she could go if she resigned. Well, some people got a hold of her, and they did some pretty terrible things to her. When we got there she was ranting like a maniac and hiding in a Jefferies tube. I had to drag her out kicking and screaming. " She appeared to be thinking about saying something more, but decided to hold it back.

"She's down in guest quarters now, holding onto her sanity by a thread. That's what we came here to do. To help somebody who needed us. Just like we did in the Maquis; we helped people who needed us. Our captain offered us the chance to remain on Vulcan. But we stayed. We stayed because this is our crew, and our ship, and we don't turn our backs on our crew. No matter what. If we have to go to jail for that, so be it."

Janeway tensed. It was actually pretty light for B'Elanna. Even so, the commodore did not look terribly happy.

"I realize that...Lieutenant." He cleared his throat. "For the time being, I am going to continue your release in Captain Janeway's custody while this situation is straightened out. I expect to be informed as to every move of this ship in that time. I'll expect to see you all on Earth in thirty days. Dismissed."

The atmosphere in the room turned from tense to jubilant. The Maquis were clearly pleased. The commodore looked around, smiling like a beneficent and beardless Santa Claus. There was celebration in the air as the Maquis filed out. He turned to Captain Janeway.

"Captain, I'd like to see you privately, if you don't mind. And we'll need the doctor who has been treating Ms. Gilmore."

Uneasiness gripped her in a slithery grasp for a moment. "Of course," she said. "My readyroom, just off the bridge." A combadge tap and Dr. Bashir was on his way. The commodore smiled gregariously as they waited.

"You seem to be quite the loyalty-down captain," he observed. "You've fought for your Maquis. And you came quite a way for one crewman."

Janeway smiled tightly. "I stand behind my crew, Commodore," she said tightly.

The commodore nodded. "Perhaps more than you should," he said drily.

For the second time, Janeway felt uneasy. "And why is that?" she asked. "This crew has done a lot."

"Oh, I wasn't referring to them. I was talking about Gilmore," he said dismissively. "This was an awful lot of effort for a woman who brought such shame to Starfleet."

Janeway swallowed. He outranked her, and he could take people she cared about and throw them in jail; diplomacy was in order. Even so, he didn't understand. That was how things could start: just by _not _doing anything. Turning your back and going about your business.

"I felt it was the right thing to do," she said, deciding to hold it at that.

The commodore nodded. "Well," he said, "you've done excellent work. I'll be glad to provide you some support. That''s basically what I'm here to do." He took a PADD and worked busily for a few moments.

The door opened to admit Dr. Bashir. The commodore smiled brightly up at him and handed him the PADD.

"Doctor, if you'd just sign that," he said in a businesslike tone.

Dr. Bashir scanned the PADD and frowned.

"This is an order to commit Marla Gilmore to a psychiatric hospital on Earth," he said, sounding puzzled.

"That's correct," the commodore said matter-of-factly. "I've signed it already. Just sign it and we'll get this matter taken care of."

Janeway frowned and found herself suspicious. "Why does she need to be sent to a psychiatric hospital?" she interjected.

The commodore sighed. "According to _your _engineer, she was insane. So we're just trying to get her some help. That's all. I'm trying to take a few things off your plate, Captain Janeway. She'll be out of your hair, and she'll get some help. How does that sound?"

From the darkening of Dr. Bashir's face, he was thinking the same thing she was. But _that _seemed ridiculous. Commodore Bass had been in Starfleet's Judge-Advocate Division for years. He had a stellar reputation and years of service.

"She isn't a danger to herself or others," Dr. Bashir said. "There is no need to confine her to a mental hospital. She doesn't meet the standard."

The commodore gave him an even look. "Captain Janeway's engineer said that she was ranting and waving a phaser. It qualifies. It's just for thirty days. She's not capable of taking care of herself right now, doctor. A psychiatric hospital is exactly where she needs to be right now."

There it was again: a cold finger touching her guts. The commodore sounded reasonable, sure. But was this his real goal? Or was this simply a means of conveniently stashing her away?

Dr. Bashir gave her a troubled look from those liquid eyes. There was something she sensed in him that was kindred to her own unyielding ethics. On the subject of Marla Gilmore, his view was simple: she was his patient, and he cared only for her well-being. There was an elegant simplicity in that she admired, even if her own feelings towards the _Equinox _engineer could never share that simplicity. _The right path, and none other, _however, was something she instinctively understood and embraced. When the doctor spoke, his tone was thoughtful.

"She's troubled, yes. She can be treated without being locked away. B'Elanna Torres is entitled to her opinion, of course. Until she's graduated medical school, her opinion should not be considered in Ms. Gilmore's treatment."

The commodore sighed. "I'm just trying to help," he repeated. "There are other factors. It's complicated."

"This is not," Dr. Bashir said with finality. "I will not sign this order, commodore. It is not medically necessary."

For a long moment, the commodore eyed Dr. Bashir levelly. No one spoke. Janeway strove to keep her face calm.

Was he doing only what he said? Or was there something more? Perhaps he only meant to help an she was being paranoid. Or perhaps he meant to secrete Gilmore safely away somewhere where it would be easy to make her disappear. Perhaps worse: perhaps there was another _Nova-_class vessel somewhere, just waiting for a drugged and helpless woman to be brought to it again.

"Actually, commodore, I have a question," she said in as non-confrontational a voice as she could muster.

The commodore turned and looked at her calmly, not a hair out of place. "Of course, captain."

"On Earth, at Chakotay's hearing, you told me that Marla Gilmore was no longer part of Starfleet, and thus not Starfleet's problem."

A brief pause. What thoughts were grinding away in his head? She couldn't get any idea, and that was unnerving.

"Yes, I did say that," the commodore acknowledged.

"So...if she isn't a Starfleet officer....then I guess I'm just curious. You're a judge with Starfleet Judge-Advocate General. How do you claim jurisdiction over a civilian?"

The commodore exhaled slowly.

"Dr. Bashir," he said slowly, "you're dismissed. Thank you for rendering your medical opinion."

Calmly, Dr. Bashir rose. He turned to her for a moment and smiled in a silent but clear message: _Good luck. _The door closed behind him, and then it was just her and one of Starfleet's best-known judges.

"Captain Janeway," the commodore said thinly, "I am just trying to help. This situation...is delicate."

"I'd like an answer to my question, sir," Janeway replied.

He stopped and seemed annoyed. "If you want to know, for one thing, she was found on a stolen Starfleet vessel. That gives me jurisdiction. I'm not lying to you, Captain. I'm a judge. I was a lawyer before that."

"I'm not a lawyer," Janeway responded. "I'm a starship captain, and I'm a scientist. As a scientist, I can tell you I see an...interesting pattern."

The commodore tilted his head and looked at her patiently. Below his silver hair, his eyes were very dark. They bored into her with restrained intensity. It took courage to continue on. She had it.

"Angelo Tassoni, dishonorably discharged and released. Noah Lessing, dishonorably discharged and released. After Noah Lessing was released, he was captured by Section 31 agents and his mind was probed."

The commodore seemed to tense. Or was it her imagination? She couldn't tell.

"And once Section 31 has appropriate information from which to construct psychological profiles of Ransom and Burke, Marla Gilmore was released. But _she_ wasn't dishonorably discharged. She was allowed to resign. In exchange for her resignation, all charges were dropped. That was...rather lenient of you, Commodore. A fabulous offer for a woman in her position. She accepted it. She's not stupid. She's released that evening...right into the waiting hands of Section 31. Conveniently, the holocameras at the jail go offline for the first time in _thirty years –_ as soon as she leaves, and they don't turn back on again until she's been snatched off the street and taken off the planet."

Her eyes narrowed. "I'm not a lawyer. I'm a scientist, and that pattern is strongly suggestive of one theory: that Section 31 had a hand in Starfleet's Judge-Advocate General. Someone who helped every step of the way. Someone who methodically paved the way for them, freeing Noah Lessing and then giving Marla Gilmore an offer so lenient that she'll accept it and be released...which gives Starfleet plausible deniability in her disappearance a few minutes after she's out."

The commodore took a few moments to reply. "She stayed loyal to her captain when the others mutinied. I felt it was the appropriate decision. There are two who are insisting on their innocence, and they want a court-martial. Captain, perhaps you feel a court-martial would have been the best solution for all of them."

"That is the typical way Starfleet personnel accused of crimes are dealt with," Janeway observed.

"That's true. Let me tell you something you might not like to hear, Captain. The _Equinox _crew committed crimes, that much is obvious. That said, a court-martial of the _Equinox _crew – particularly Gilmore and Lessing – would have been a _lot _less cut and dry than you think it would be. If the reports on how you treated Noah Lessing after his capture are anything _close _to true, you could face a court-martial yourself." His finger stabbed the air at her. "Your Maquis commander ordered Gilmore to give him the codes."

Janeway nodded. "It was a battle situation," she said sharply.

"Perhaps it was. It's also a clear-cut case of forcing someone to incriminate themselves, and as you may recall, the Federation Constitution forbids that sort of thing, and it's the sort of thing that can get an officer removed from a command position. A defense counsel fresh out of law school could have gotten the schematics suppressed! You searched Ransom's vessel without notice or warrant. I can think of several good counselors who could have gotten that thrown out. You're Starfleet's best hope right now. Do you _really _want to run the risk of a court-martial yourself? Or getting your Maquis first officer busted down to Lieutenant with no hope of ever holding a command position again? Don't you realize how much mud would've stuck to you in a court-martial of either of those two? "

Janeway stared him down, not caring about his superior rank. "If you feel I've overstepped the line, call a court-martial," she said.

Commodore Bass stared her down for a few moments before nodding, leaning back, and letting out a heavy sigh.

"We'd prefer to handle this privately," he said finally.

Janeway let herself openly glare at him, unmindful of the consequences.

"You're a _judge_," she said. "How can you work for _them?" _

"I don't," he said simply. Then he leaned forward and spoke with real conviction for the first time.

"Captain, I'm trying to avoid a war. Do you know what would happen if the Romulans found out everything? They would not be too happy, I assure you. Now look. The spyship is gone. Those weren't Starfleet Intelligence agents on it; you should have figured that out by now. What's it going to take, Captain Janeway? Do you want command of a _Sovereign-_class vessel? That can be arranged."

"Not at that price," Janeway said simply, and gritted her teeth.

"The charges against your Maquis can be quietly dropped," he offered. "The Cardassians want them extradited, but they're weak and will be for years. You want to make sure you've got your first officer by your side? I can do that."

Janeway closed her eyes. "I want what is _right. _I want those men to be punished for what they have done."

Bass sighed heavily and pondered. "You're not making this easy," he said.

She smiled coldly and told him the same thing she had told Rudy Ransom in the same room. "It's never easy. But when we turn our back on our principles we stop being human." Her lips twisted in anger. "I'm not _dealing _with you, Commodore. I want those men punished. I want this stopped. If I don't get it, I'm going to the Romulans, the Breen, the Dominion – _anyone _who will listen."

The commodore choked and jerked in his chair. "You'd start a _war_," he said. "Do you know how many have already died? Don't you know how stretched Starfleet is? There are Starfleet officers serving now who did things in the last war...that they shouldn't have. We're not in shape to fight another war, Captain."

"Then do what you're supposed to do, Commodore," she said sternly, not giving an inch. "Do the right thing. The _just _thing. Punish those men for their crimes."

He sighed and slumped. His hair seemed to slump with him.

"All right," he said weakly. "I...I need something to show for my efforts. Give me Marla Gilmore."

Janeway shook her head instantly. "No. She stays here. I'll appoint Noah Lessing as her guardian, if the doctor feels she needs one. He stays here, too."

He sighed. "Captain, you're risking the safety of the Federation for a couple of mass murderers."

Janeway chuckled coldly. "If you wanted to try them, you should have," she said icily. "As far as I'm concerned, they're my crewmen. And I never..._never_...leave a crew member behind."

He let out a heavy, long breath. "This may be more difficult than it had to be," he said. "Just remember...I offered. This could have gone much easier. Now, I _do _have legal papers entitling me to take custody of Mr. Kilbourne and his crew. Are you going to respect those warrants, or were you planning on warping off somewhere else with all of us in the brig?"

Janeway sighed. "No," she said. "Take them, Commodore. Just remember what I've said here today. I assure you I can and will do what I said I would."

"I'm aware of that," Commodore Bass replied, but he looked heartsick.

"Take your prisoners," Janeway directed, and gestured to the door. "Take your prisoners and get off my ship."


	19. Redemption

_Author's note: _

_ I was planning to end this here, but a few ideas have sparked, partially from reviewers who set my crazed imagination spinning in one way or the other. So here we are. _

_Katharina-B: Glad you like things so far; I see Janeway and Bashir as similar characters in their moral outlook. How long is the story going to be? I don't know. I usually don't, when I write these things. It's on the ending arc, though. Though a few reviews have given me ideas...._

_JadziaKathryn: You like tension? You'll like the next few chapters, then. _

_Bren: You may get your wish yet..._

_eScapefreak (whom I have added to spellcheck dictionary): Can Janeway trust anyone? Good question, isn't it? _

_Webster82: Glad you like things so far. Yes, Section 31 can't be brought down just by one person. _

_Worker72: Yeah, Section 31 is fun. _

_PG: The commodore may yet surprise you. _

_50Of47: Glad you like things so far. Here is your requested next installment. _

She was the captain of the ship. The hero of the day. She'd remained true to her principles and she had won fairly. This was her ship, and her crew. Voyager was her domain.

So why was she nervous?

Captain Janeway stood in front of the door to guest quarters and tried not to fidget. In one hand she held a PADD. She could hear faint voices issuing from inside. It had only been a few moments since she had buzzed the doorchime. There was a security guard standing nearby; she had foreseen the possibility that Section 31 might attempt to capture or eliminate Noah Lessing and Marla Gilmore.

After being treated in sickbay, she had sent both of them here. Noah Lessing had been seen a few times in the messhall and holodeck. She hadn't talked to him – she'd been too busy – but those who had had told her he was cautious but sociable, clearly testing the waters of this brave new world. Marla Gilmore had secluded herself her. No one had seen her.

There had been some idle curiosity as to what the two _Equinox _survivors had been doing in there. More than a few had made it quite clear what _they _thought it was. Janeway didn't particularly care what it was they were doing, but she needed to talk to her former crewmen.

"Come in," a voice said, and the door slid open obediently at the sound. Janeway smiled diplomatically and stepped inside. Guest quarters aboard _Voyager _were among the plushest on the ship. The diplomatic aspects of the ship's mission required it.

Noah Lessing stepped to the door to greet her. His head dipped in a nod. His eyes did not seem as impenetrable as they had before. She scanned him for a moment and thought. There had always seemed to be a restrained tension between them. That felt absent now. It was doubtful they would ever be friendly, but this would do for now.

"Captain," he said.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Lessing," she said. "I need to speak with Marla Gilmore."

Before, there would have been a second's pause as he took in what she had said and weighed it. _Is she telling the truth? Can I trust her this time, or is there some hidden agenda? _That, too, was gone. He simply nodded.

"She's right back here, Captain," he said, and sounded vaguely friendly. It would do for now.

"I'll also want to speak to you," she added. "We have some arrangements to discuss."

He nodded.

Part of the reason that Marla Gilmore had not left her quarters in the time since the _Voyager _had recovered her was simply because she did not need to. Guest quarters supplied a food replicator, a living area, a computer terminal, a full bathroom – everything she could need was here.

She found the blonde engineer sitting on a couch near the window. Janeway peered through it and realized that from her quarters, Marla could see the fake _Equinox _docked at the next pylon over. Janeway's mouth quirked; that might not be exactly the best thing for her. All the same, she seemed to be lucid and reasonably calm. She was staring out at the ship on which she had been held as if hypnotized. When she heard the captain approach, she started and turned.

Her face was pinched and troubled; her eyes seemed haunted. Her time on the ship docked next to _Voyager _had been harrowing. She did not say anything when the captain approached. Janeway noted the flinch – instantly checked – and the flash of fear in the engineer's eyes.

"Hello, Marla," Janeway said calmly.

"Hello, captain," Marla answered softly.

"How are you feeling?"

"All right, I guess." Her voice was faint. "It's...it's hard to believe everything that's happened."

"I need to speak with you," Janeway said. "Come with me, please."

Gilmore paused and stared out at the _Nova-_class ship again. "Where are we going?"

"My readyroom," Janeway answered readily.

Another frightened look. "That's off the bridge," Marla said fearfully. Janeway watched her carefully, impassively. She was no psychologist, but she was a scientist. Was Marla all the way back? Probably not. She'd looked up the records of a few Starfleet officers who had been held captive by enemies; all of them had been scarred by the experience. One had written her back personally.

Was she back enough to understand what Janeway was looking for? Could she do the job and understand the terms? That seemed to be more likely. A lot of Starfleet officers had been able to resume their posts after some time.

"Yes."

"Why can't we talk here?" Marla asked.

Janeway sighed and put her hands on her hips. She had to resist the urge to employ the full-on glare that she would commonly have used on a crewman who disobeyed her orders. For one thing, Marla Gilmore had been through pure hell. For another, she wasn't Starfleet any longer, and Janeway couldn't order her to do anything anymore.

"Because," Janeway said gently, "you've been secluding yourself here for two days now. It'll be good for you to get outside. Interact a little."

Marla swallowed and looked longingly at the door. Her hands trembled a bit and she hid them behind her back. She let out a low breath, closed and eyes, and rose to her feet as if resigned to her fate.

"Besides," Janeway added, "people have been asking about you. We went to a fair amount of effort to get you here." She tried to make it sound friendly;

The engineer tensed. "I know," she breathed. "Thank you."

Janeway smiled. "Come on," she urged. "It'll be all right."

Gilmore went along with her willingly enough, although she seemed torn. She hesitated at the door to her refuge for just a moment, clearly torn. Janeway could understand that well enough; if she'd been held captive and drugged and terrorized, she'd probably want to hide out herself. But sometimes you had to push someone along just a bit to make them realize what they could do.

All the same, she kept a careful eye. Gilmore stopped and stared longingly at the transporter room for a moment. At the turbolift she stopped dead for several seconds, staring at it as if it were an agony booth. Janeway put a hand on her arm, not wanting the engineer to turn and bolt for the transporter room.

"It's all right," Janeway said gently, and went into the turbolift.

The other woman's hands bunched into fists, but she went along.

"Bridge," Janeway directed briskly, and Marla flinched as if the word was a prison sentence. She let out a shuddering breath and pressed herself into a corner. Was she afraid of the alien life forms? None had attacked _Voyager _or even appeared on the ship except when they had come to lead them to the spyship.

The graviton lift hummed and the car moved upwards. Neither woman spoke. Janeway glanced over at the engineer, trying to make it look casual. It didn't seem to be casual to Marla Gilmore. The color drained from her face as the car rose, leaving behind only frank, open terror. It didn't make much sense; after the hellhole she'd been held in, what was to be scared of on _Voyager's _bridge?

But Janeway knew. B'Elanna Torres and Seven – or Annika, as she was going by now – had both reported on the strange things that Marla had said on the fake _Equinox. _B'Elanna had dismissed them as the ranting of a woman temporarily gone insane. Seven could not comprehend what she had meant either; her experience with psychological torture was limited.

But they weren't complete nonsense either. _Not her. Don't give me to her. Quit judging me. _

It had made more sense once the fake Rudy Ransom's notes had indicated that they had tried to twist Marla's guilt and desire to make amends into fear and terror of the _Voyager _crew. She'd seen the notes on the nightmare generator that they had devised. It wasn't _Voyager's _bridge that Marla was afraid of: it was the command crew on it. The people against whom she could never measure up.

The real Rudy Ransom had realized the tremendous crime he had committed, and at the end he had tried to cleanse himself. He had remained on _Equinox _as it exploded as penance for his crimes. In the end, Janeway had forgiven him. Small wonder that Marla Gilmore had tried to follow his example.

Kathryn Janeway knew that the time of the _Equinox _hadn't been her best at the helm of _Voyager_, and time and distance had given her some perspective she had lacked. She wasn't the vengeful judge that she had seemed to be. It privately enraged her that Section 31 had concluded that she would look the other way at the disappearance of an _Equinox _crewman. There were plenty of crew on _Voyager _with a checkered past. Eventually, someone who tried would be accepted back into the fold.

Things hadn't gone quite that way with Marla Gilmore. Would they now? She hoped so; what she planned to accomplish would be easier with the _Equinox _engineer's help.

When the doors opened, Marla decided the floor of the car was more interesting and set to staring at it. Sheer terror was written on her face. Janeway sighed.

"Come on," she directed. Slowly, unwillingly, Marla followed. She followed slowly, as if the bridge of _Voyager _was patrolled by wild _targs. _

The bridge crew was doing its work as it always did. At the security station, Tuvok was keeping a constant eye on _Equinox _in addition to his normal duties. A few people looked around, surprised to see Marla Gilmore on the bridge.

"As you were," Janeway said. "Mr. Chakotay, you're with me. Mr. Paris, you have the conn. This way, Ms. Gilmore." Everything was just business as usual.

She pretended not to see Marla's hands shake as Chakotay fell into step beside her. The readyroom doors opened. Janeway took her seat behind her desk and directed Marla to a chair. The engineer did not so much sit in it as collapse into it, drawing away and trying to make herself small. From her mien, she seemed to be expecting a phaser-armed firing squad or perhaps a hangman's noose or guillotine.

Chakotay crossed over to sit in the chair next to hers. She'd latched onto him when the two starships had first met. Would this work? Janeway thought so. Chakotay was a passionate man, but also a spiritual one. He understood all too well that hating hurt the hater more than the hated. If anyone could look past the prior crimes of the _Equinox _crew, he could.

"Hello, Marla," he said pleasantly. "You feeling all right?"

"Yes, sir," Marla said, the first word clearly a lie and the second one mere reflex.

Janeway cleared her throat. "Marla, we need to discuss the situation here. Your status on _Voyager, _specifically."

"Oh." Marla seemed relieved. "I...I understand. I'll leave. I can book transportation back to Earth on my own...," she essayed a smile. "I know, I don't really have a place here...,"

Janeway shook her head. "That's not what I had in mind," she said calmly.

Marla gave her a puzzled stare, then shifted it to Chakotay. She didn't reply.

"You realize I can never condone what happened aboard the real _Equinox,_" Janeway began. Marla tried to press herself further down into her seat. "But I am aware of what happened aboard _that _one." She gestured at the ship, visible from her window as well as guest quarters.

Gilmore turned to follow her gesture and closed her eyes for a moment.

"You held out," Janeway said. "That wasn't easy. You were in a very difficult situation – worse, even than before. Whatever Rudy Ransom might have done, he cared deeply about his crew. These men didn't. I've read their logs. They were determined to break you, and you held out."

Gilmore stared glassily at the carpet in front of Janeway's desk.

"No, I didn't," she said in a very small voice.

Janeway tilted her head. "What do you mean?"

She found herself thinking that the engineer would sooner die than say what she was about to. Her pale face flushed in shame. Her shaking hands drew up in front of her.

"I broke," she whispered. "I...I started building it for them."

Janeway frowned. Was this delusion? It was certainly possible; according to Dr. Bashir's account of what she had suffered. Cerebral stimulation, drugs, perhaps she thought she had built it. "Marla, we didn't find anything," she said gently. "No trace of mutagenic particles."

"I started building the device," Gilmore repeated. "Then I disintegrated it."

"How?" Janeway asked.

"With a phaser," Marla said, still unable to raise her eyes to the captain's.

"I see," Janeway said, feeling silly for having asked the question. How else? Odd that they'd let her have a phaser that actually worked. . "So you did hold out. You just slipped a bit. Don't be so hard on yourself."

Gilmore shook her head. "I caved. I gave in. It's what I always do," she breathed.

This was not going quite the way she'd hoped. She wanted the other woman's help. There was part of her that felt this was too soon, and perhaps Marla would not be ready. But she had to at least try. She'd hoped to buck Gilmore up a bit, then explain what she wanted. The fact that Gilmore had lower self-esteem than a Borg drone wasn't helping.

"Marla, these people were not the crew on the _Equinox. _Their job was to break you, and they did it little by little. What happened was not your fault. They were expert and they were inhuman. You didn't have the capacity to make a rational choice by the time you gave in. That's not just my opinion; that's Dr. Bashir's."

"Why are you making excuses for me?" Marla asked suddenly.

"I'm not," Janeway said softly. "Do you know who Jean-Luc Picard is?"

Marla seemed surprised at the question. "Everyone knows who he is," she said. "Captain of the _Enterprise." _

"That's right. He was captured by Cardassians once, and tortured. I read his report. He also sent a message to _Voyager _when he heard what had happened. He told me that when he had been tortured, he talked. What happened to him wasn't too different from what happened to you. When it was all over, he said that his interrogator always asked him if he could see four lights or five. At the end...he thought he could see five. No one thinks any less of him."

"He's a hero," Marla said, as if that explained everything.

Chakotay leaned forward to chime in. "If you judge yourself by that standard, then I'm right in there with you," he said. "Did you ever hear of a race called the Vori?"

Marla seemed to think. "Yes," she said. "We tried to trade with them for supplies. They got Max for a while...he was never the same after he came back."

"They got me, too," Chakotay said. "They got me lock, stock, and barrel. I didn't believe it until Tuvok came down to get me. But I made a decision. You did too-- the right one. Give yourself some credit."

Janeway gave her errant a moment to digest that, and then smiled to make the pitch. "Marla, do you want to come back to Starfleet?"

Gilmore stared at the captain as if she had suggested growing a third eyeball. "I can't," she said. "I...I resigned."

"Yes, and any officer who resigns is permitted to request reinstatement within six months," Janeway pointed out.

"I'm not an officer any more," Gilmore said. "There's no way Starfleet would ever let _me _come back anyway."

Janeway sighed. This wasn't working. Maybe she _had _been too hard on the _Equinox _five. Maybe Gilmore simply wasn't ready for this. She couldn't seem to see the path Janeway was trying to lead her to.

"That can change," Janeway told her. She reached into her desk drawer and extracted a wooden box, which she slid across the surface of the desk. Obligingly, the other woman took it and opened it. Inside, on a plush background, a single rank pip sat, shining in the light.

"Marla, I'm offering you reinstatement at the rank of ensign. Just like before. I think you can be an asset to Starfleet, and I'd like to see you get the chance."

The blonde woman's eyes flitted down to the pip, up to Janeway, then over to the ship, then back down to the pip. Emotions played across the planes of her face: hope, fear, doubt, confusion.

"What do I have to do?" Marla asked. "And why do you want me back, anyway?"

"You've paid the price for what you did," Chakotay said, and smiled.

Janeway sighed. "I think you've made an effort to turn yourself around. And besides, we need your help." She waved a hand at the _Nova-_class ship.

"This won't be easy," she began. "If I had any other way of doing it, I would. We both know that ship out there is not _Equinox. _What we don't know is what ship it is. B'Elanna and Seven have been over it and they haven't found anything." Her eyes settled on the trembling blonde. "But they don't know the _Nova _class as well as you do. Actually, there probably isn't anyone in the fleet who knows _Nova _class ships like you do." Her face tightened.

"What I need from you is to help us find whatever we can. The men who did this are in custody, but they won't be forever. I want to have whatever evidence we can find, here on _Voyager_." She thought for a moment and decided that she didn't need to add that Commodore Bass seemed to be working for Section 31. Marla Gilmore had seen enough of Starfleet officers working against each other.

Gilmore stared out at the ship and shuddered.

"I don't blame you," Janeway said sympathetically. "If I had been in your shoes, I'd probably do anything I could to get away from that ship. All I can offer you is this: whatever help you need, we'll make sure that you get it. But we need your expertise. That's what I need from you, and that,--" she indicated the pip, "--is what I can offer you."

"Thank you, but...," the blonde struggled for words. "I can't see how you'd do this after what I did."

Janeway let out a long, slow breath. "I've done it with others," she said encouragingly. "I can never accept what happened on the real _Equinox. _But I _can _recognize that there were mitigating circumstances. Ultimately, it's a decision every captain has to make. I think you're worth a second chance."

"What about Noah?" Marla looked down at the pip and fingered it thoughtfully.

Janeway shrugged. "It's a different situation. We'll help him, too. But he was dishonorably discharged. I believe we can get that changed, but I can't reinstate him immediately." She pointed at the pip. "Well?"

Marla touched the pip and thought for several moments. Janeway watched her. She could only open the door; Gilmore had to decide if she wanted to walk through it or not. It wouldn't be easy. She could be reinstated, but there would always be crewmen who held the events of _Equinox _against her. But there were still crewmen who didn't care for Seven, and there were still crewmen who hadn't been wild about the Maquis. It wouldn't have surprised her to learn that some of her former Maquis might still resent Starfleet after all these years. Their reception on their return had certainly warranted it.

"All right," Marla said finally. "Thank you, captain."

Janeway smiled and nodded. "Welcome back," she said. "Go get in uniform, Ensign. Take a few hours if you need them and get ready. B'Elanna will meet you at eleven hundred hours in main engineering." She patted Gilmore's hand. "Dismissed."

Chakotay seemed to be lost in thought as the engineer left to resume her post anew. He turned his head and watched her go, then put a hand to his chin reflectively. He looked back at her for several long moments.

"Penny for your thoughts," Janeway said.

"I was just thinking that was nice that she got a second chance."

Janeway shrugged. "It's a judgment call," she said. "You're a first officer; you've had some experience with it by now. Some people need to be punished. Some people need to be given a second chance. She's not the first. Tom did, and he's been a good officer, even if I want to strangle him from time to time." Her voice dropped a bit lower. "_You _got a second chance, you know."

Chakotay chuckled. "Not to Starfleet," he said.

"That will pass. You know that." She gave him a level, concerned look. "If you'd just consider a plea deal--,"

He shook his head. "No," he said stubbornly. "I'm not standing up and saying I'm guilty of anything other than protecting my planet. Especially now, with what we've learned. No plea deal. That's final."

He wouldn't bend on it; she could tell. She sighed heavily. "Chakotay, I know I can't decide your course for you, but you really--,"

_"No._" He shook his head. "I'm not afraid. If I have to stand trial, so be it. If I have to go to prison, so be it." He smiled conspiratorially. "Besides, if they put me on trial _now_, I'll have a public forum. I wonder how Section 31 would feel about me laying out the entire thing in a court transcript."

"We're thinking along the same lines, but we have to be careful," Janeway said. "_You _have to be careful. It all depends on how much Commodore Bass is in Section 31's pocket. If he orders you back to prison, they could quietly eliminate you there. We have to force his hand."

He nodded. "I suppose that's what you wanted Gilmore for."

"Yes," Janeway said instantly. It was easier to talk about that subject. "B'Elanna and Seven have tried, but they can't find out what ship that used to be. I don't know if Gilmore can, but she's our resident expert on _Nova-_class ships." She gestured at the ship. "This isn't over. Section 31 is going to get _that _ship back if they can. I mean to get everything I can from it before they do." Her eyes gleamed. "And then, I'll make sure that Commodore Bass receives the evidence. And I'll also make sure that everyone in Starfleet knows he got it. Section 31 thrives in the darkness. I mean to shed light onto their ratholes."

"Where are they now?" Chakotay asked.

"Deep Space Nine's brig. For now." She shook her head. "They're down but not out. They're already planning how to get out of this fix. I intend to use the advantage of time while I have it."

She turned and looked at the ship. It didn't look like much from here. Just a planetary surveyor ship. There were many like it in the fleet. She had it now. But she knew that the people she had taken it from would try to get it back.

She smiled coolly. As Seven liked to say, they would fail.

* * *

Things were not good. Things were, in fact, very bad. Kilbourne had been in tight spots before, and this wasn't his first time in a prison. It was his first time in a _Federation _prison, though.

Still, he'd gotten out of tight spots before. Fortunately, Section 31 took care of its own. The officer appointed as his counsel was part of Intelligence. He was allowed to speak with his counsel in privacy, so he had reasonable access to the outside world. Sometimes, those Federation principles that Janeway esteemed so highly came in handy.

Janeway. Damn Janeway. The spyship was out of her hands, but he'd have some serious answering to do when this was over. Never before had a craft specifically built for Section 31 fallen into enemy hands. Everything had been encoded, and according to his contacts nothing had been compromised.

He was concerned about Janeway's threat to publicize him. The Romulans might know who he was; he wasn't sure. The sources they had in the Romulan government didn't give that sort of stuff out. The Klingons didn't know squat about who he was, but the Klingons weren't very good at counterintelligence work anyway.

They'd made the mistake of putting him in with a few of his senior agents. Benning was there, and had shamefacedly admitted that Janeway had caught him. He'd been cooling his heels in _Voyager's _brig the whole time, watched constantly by security officers. Kilbourne was hopeful. Commodore Bass had been helpful before. He might well be again.

He turned his head to see the distinguished commodore walking into the brig and up to his cell. The commodore did not look happy. Tense lines creased his face. His lips were pressed together into a thin line. Kilbourne had seen a lot of occasional Section 31 assets act that way.

"Commodore," he said neutrally. "Hello."

"Janeway isn't bending," Bass told him. "She's threatening to go to the Romulans and the Dominion."

Kilbourne sighed. "Well, then. We have a problem, don't we?"

The commodore's lips pulled apart in anger, showing Kilbourne his perfect white teeth.

"_You _have a problem," he spat. "Do you think I like working with you? I'm a _judge. _I believe in the law. Working with men like you makes me sick/"

"Having doubts, commodore?" Kilbourne said, smiling sarcastically. "Well, then. How about you confess everything to Janeway? I'm sure that the public humiliation of a judge deliberately circumventing the law will go over _very _well." He sighed. "If you release us, we'll take care of this."

The commodore eyed him distrustfully. Personally, Kilbourne reckoned that a smart move. His loyalty was not to the commodore and never would be; his loyalty was to the Federation and to Section 31. Too many of Section 31's Starfleet assets trusted their handlers.

"If I release you...,"

"We'll take care of it," Kilbourne repeated.

The commodore considered. "I don't want anyone to get killed. We've had enough death already."

Kilbourne smiled gently. "There will be no mess."

"I want your word," the commodore persisted.

Kilbourne sighed and eyed him calmly for several moments. He was through and through a practical man. If the commodore needed to hear that there would be no killing, he would say that. It wasn't like any of it could be traced back to him.

"Very well," he said.

The commodore stared at him through the force field the way a man will stare at a particularly clever wild animal. Then he sighed.

"Fine," he said. "I'll allow you house arrest on the station. No leaving the station, and any communications have to be monitored by myself or the station's security officers. You are to report back to the security office every twelve hours. If you screw me on this, Kilbourne, I'll toss you away and the consequences be damned. I'm doing what I can to keep Janeway from going off half-cocked and starting a war. No more attacking _Voyager." _

Kilbourne stood stock-still, watching the commodore. The spartan cell didn't bother him, nor the fact that too many people were crammed into it. He watched the commodore and pondered. Was he serious? He might be; some Starfleet officers remembered all their highfalutin duties when pushed into a corner. Some became crazed enough to do just about anything. It was ones like Janeway, who never forgot theirs in the first place, that could be the biggest pains in the ass.

"I realize you need to cover yourself, and that's fine. I assure you, Commodore. Everything will be fine."

"I shouldn't," the commodore said, and slumped as if he were the prisoner. "I should just leave you there."

Kilbourne watched the commodore bloodlessly. He wanted very badly to remind the officious judge that if you danced with the devil, the devil did not change; the devil changed you. Had Bass danced enough with him to change? He wasn't sure. If he did, then the commodore would get all high and mighty about it, so he simply kept his mouth shut.

"Fine," the commodore said heavily, and scribbled on a PADD.

Kilbourne smiled calmly as the force fields came down. His agents knew the routine as well as he did. There was no shouting or pushing as they filed out of the brig. They signed their release statements. It wasn't until they were out and heading for Quark's that he beckoned Benning closer.

"Do we know the status of _X5573_?" he asked.

"It's in Section hands. Five light-years away, in orbit of an asteroid. It has a skeleton crew."

Kilbourne nodded. "Get below and get to the station's communication beacons," he said. "Have them come back here under full cloak and at low impulse. When they're within transporter range, we'll go aboard and take care of this."

Benning nodded.

"Don't get cute," Kilbourne said. "We've only got twelve hours."


	20. Boarding Parties

_Author's note: _

_eScapefreak: Arguing Borg self-esteem, I like it. I still would have to argue that Borg have low self-esteem but high hive-mind esteem, or collective esteem. _

_3rd of Five: Glad you like the story. _

_JadziaKathryn: The Commodore may pop up a bit more. _

_PG: The Commodore has his reasons; we'll see them. _

_Bren: You present some interesting ideas – perhaps in the next chapter. A series? Well, I emailed you on that, but I'll say it here: I dunno if a series is going to be in the works. For now, let's finish this one. However, B'Elanna and Seven will not be getting anything on; I'm afraid you'll have to satisfy yourself with the chapter in which they wrestle Marla out of the tube. In the future I might write something where they have a deathmatch in a waist-deep vat of pasta, but it isn't usually what I write. _

The chronometer read 1030. She had half an hour. B'Elanna did not like junior officers being late, and she didn't want to be. Marla Gilmore stood in front of the mirror in her guest quarters, eying her reflection cautiously. She was wearing a uniform that she had never expected to wear again. On her collar was a single dark pip with a gold border. She'd never expected to wear that again, either.

This was nothing short of a goddam miracle. Noah was watching her, and she felt guilty; she didn't want to rub her good fortune in his face. Captain Janeway had said they would help him too, but she felt bad. She'd had more to do with the crimes of the _Equnox _than any of the others who survived. She'd designed the enhanced warp device. Noah was simply a crewman who had unofficially become a senior member of the crew. Angelo had been a science officer – a xenobotanist or something. Whatever he'd been, it hadn't mattered in the Delta Quadrant. Brian had been security. Jim had been a lab technician. Of all of them, she'd been treated the most leniently, and it didn't seem right.

"You look good," Noah said softly.

"Thank you," Marla said, and thought for several moment. "Captain Janeway said she'd help you, too. I hope she does."

Noah let out a thoughtful sigh. "I think she might be able to get my discharge upgraded," he said thoughtfully. "I don't know about anything else. I don't know that I _want _to come back to Starfleet. I mean...you know that'll follow you around for the rest of your career."

Marla sighed. Her throat worked.

"We can't change our past," she said. "Just our future. Maybe in a few years they'll promote me, make me a lieutenant. Maybe not. I can dream, can't I?"

He chuckled. "I guess."

"Who knows," she said. "If you come back, you might be able to make Ensign yourself. Officially."

He snorted. "Marla, I love you to death, but there's no way any sane person can think I'd get to be an ensign."

She shrugged. "You never know," she said. "_I _never thought I'd get a chance to wear this uniform again. Maybe Captain Janeway has decided we've suffered enough."

He came over to her and put his hands on her shoulders. His eyes focused on hers. They were light brown, and infinitely sadder and wiser than he would have preferred.

"Marla, I know you want to believe in the best," he said. "And I'm happy for you, don't get me wrong. The 'fleet needs good engineers, and you're one of the best." He flicked his head at the door. "Fact is, I think Janeway's decent. I don't hate her like I used to. But she's not a saint. She wants these guys in a sling and so she'll ease off you. Me too, maybe. I don't know. But don't kid yourself. We're in her good graces now because she's got somebody new who she wants to kick around and she thinks we can help her do that."

Marla pulled her hair back and searched for something to tie it with. "I'd hope that's not all there is," she said.

"I think it is," Noah said. "Look, I know you want to think Janeway cares. Maybe she does, in her own way, but the main thing to her is these Section 31 guys. She wants to take them down just like she took Rudy down. If I were you, I'd get while the gettin's good. Give her what she wants, make her happy...and then get yourself on another ship as soon as it's over." He shook his head. "Part of me wants to think she's on the level. I thought she was on the level about getting you off that ship, and she was. But we gotta be realists. Take care of yourself first. You probably won't be in Janeway's favor forever."

"We'll see," she said diplomatically. "Right now, she just wants information about the ship."

"You think you can deliver?"

Marla nodded. "I...have a few tricks up my sleeve," she said. "Things that _Voyager _engineers probably never tried."

"You don't think Torres knows her stuff?" Noah asked, seeming interested.

"I don't think Torres ever _had _to learn some of the stuff we did," Marla answered. Her mouth quirked. It seemed funny, in a way. Noah had always been her confidant, the one she could trust in. They had stolen moments alone in their time on _Voyager, _and it was only because each had the other that they'd been able to keep it together on a ship where they had been the outcasts. At the other end of the ship – the top of the chain – there had always been murmurs about the captain and first officer, doing the exact same thing. She'd heard the rumors, of course, but she'd never really seen the parallels until now.

Had anyone on _Voyager _ever seen it? Noah would say no, if she asked him: they'd been the ship's outcasts in the Delta Quadrant. Could that change now that they were home? Might she have a place here? Again, Noah doubted it. She knew he meant well, and she knew he cared about her. But that small spark of hope was something she hadn't had in a while, and she wanted to fan it and give it fuel rather than simply let it die.

But if this was a first step on the road back, she had to take it. She smiled tightly at Noah, hoping that he wouldn't be forgotten along the way. Her hand raised in a wave.

"Okay," she said. "Well, let's see what I can do that they can't. Wish me luck."

He smiled gently back. "Go show 'em what we can _really _do."

There were a few puzzled looks as she emerged from her quarters in Starfleet uniform, but she let them pass. A few disgruntled comments reached her ears. She let those slide too, not wanting to worry about it. For a moment she tried to remember how many ensigns there were in Engineering, and where her new place in the hierarchy might be, now that it wasn't at the complete bottom of the heap. She might actually have some sort of command authority now. On _Equinox, _she hadn't had any for the simple reason that all the other engineers had been killed. On _Voyager, _she had been somewhere between a prisoner and a crewman.

B'Elanna was waiting for her by the warp core when she arrived in Engineering. She studied Marla for a moment or two, clearly not sure what to make of the situation. She cleared her throat.

"Hello, Ensign," she said matter-of-factly. "I'll assemble the salvage team."

Seven was there as well, looking imperiously around. She looked at Marla with imperial dignity. What was the ex-Borg thinking? You never could tell with Seven.

"Ensign," she said. "We have already gone over the false _Equinox _and found nothing."

Marla nodded. "I have a few ideas," she said drily. "We'll need some supplies."

"State your needs."

The place was familiar; she'd spent two years here, trying to keep out of everyone's way. The less people noticed her, the less nasty comments and obvious dislike she had to deal with. Part of her wanted to flee to some dark corner of Engineering. As the team Torres had assembled drew closer, the urge grew stronger. She swallowed, raised her chin and made herself wait. _You're an officer again. Act like it. _

"We'll need cold-weather gear," she said. "Parkas and gloves. Also magnetic boots."

Seven raised an eyebrow. "I do not understand the necessity for cold-weather gear. The ship's computer is functional and quite capable of maintaining a comfortable climate."

Marla waited a beat so that everyone would get there and she wouldn't have to repeat herself. Lieutenant Ayala was there, along with a few Security officers. His oilspot eyes touched hers for just a moment, hidden under a cool reserve. Was he judging her or was he willing to give her a second chance? She couldn't tell. She closed her eyes and tried to think. Had he been a Maquis? She couldn't remember.

Torres cleared her throat, bringing the salvage team to order.

"All right," she said, in a businesslike tone. "Most of you were on the first salvage attempt. As you know, we didn't find much." She gestured at Marla, much as she would any other officer. Marla swallowed nervously, aware that she was going to be the center of attention. How were these people going to deal with her? Most of them despised her. Then again, she'd thought the captain despised her before, and it seemed she hadn't. Why couldn't she concentrate on one thing? She put her hands behind her back and dug her fingernails into her palms to make herself calm down.

"Most of you know Ensign Gilmore," Torres continued. A single look was enough to underscore the message: _Yes, I did say Ensign. _A few crewmen scowled, but most remained impassive. "She has extensive expertise on _Nova-_class ships, and she's going to help us this time. Ensign Gilmore?"

Marla's throat clamped shut for a moment. Fear tasted coppery on her tongue. For a moment she wanted to find somewhere to hide. But they were all looking at her, so she had to say something.

"Thank you," she said, and fumbled for words. "I haven't had a chance to review what the first salvage team tried, but I have a few ideas. Everyone needs to replicate cold-weather gear and magnetic boots."

Vorik raised an eyebrow in the way that only Vulcans could. "Why is that necessary?" he asked.

"We're going to shut down the main computer," she said. "Along with the secondary processors."

Torres gave her a look of puzzlement, as did some of the other engineers.

"All of them?" someone asked from the back.

"Yes, all of them. For five minutes."

"And what, exactly, were you planning to run life support on for those five minutes?" the voice asked. "I don't know about you, but I sort of prefer having it." Now she could place him; Crewman Dalby. He had a reputation for being a maverick, and he said what was on his mind. They'd never really spoken. She didn't think he liked her.

Marla shook her head. "It'll get real cold real fast, and it won't be comfortable, and we'll lose artificial gravity," she said, "but the atmosphere won't dissipate. We'll be okay."

"How do you know that?" Dalby asked, sounding very dubious about this idea.

"Because," Marla said, "on _Equinox _we went without main computer or secondaries for _twelve _minutes with two hull breaches once. We survived. We lost both on a few occasions, actually."

Dalby muttered something she didn't catch. She doubted it was nice, given the snickers that she heard.

Torres was looking at her, clearly wanting to say something but holding herself back. Marla watched her carefully. Usually, B'Elanna Torres wasn't known for keeping her opinions to herself. There had to be something she wanted Marla to do. Apprehension gripped her stomach. What would it be?

B'Elanna's dark eyes remained firmly on her. She mouthed the words _Don't let him. _Marla swallowed.

Don't let him. All right. Sure. It was easy for B'Elanna to say; she was at the top of the ladder and knew it. Marla had no such backing; she might wear an ensign's pip, putting her somewhere in the upper-middle of things, but it had been only a few weeks ago that she'd been pond scum here.. Marla gathered up her courage.

"Crewman Dalby," she said crisply, "I assure you, when it comes to crisis engineering, I know what I'm talking about. I didn't _have _an engineering staff on _Equinox. _I _was _the engineering staff. I know this will work. I've done it. If you don't feel comfortable on the salvage team, I'm sure Lieutenant Torres can reassign you to...safer duty on _Voyager." _She tried to stare him down in the best B'Elanna fashion she could muster, all too aware that the real thing happened to be watching her.

Dalby scowled. The comment had hit its mark. "Yes, _ma'am_," he said, the second word laced with scorn. Marla simply watched him for a moment more, trying to summon up the glassy calm she'd seen senior officers display, and hoped no one saw her hands shaking or knew that her stomach was roiling.

"If that doesn't work," Marla continued, "then we'll cut into the walls with a plasma torch. A lot of the cabling in these ships was stamped with the ship's name. Our...friends may have changed a lot, but they probably didn't have time to get to that. The same goes for the main computer – if we disassemble it, there will probably be parts stamped with the ship's name, or if we're lucky there might be something in a memory buffer."

"I have checked the memory buffers," Seven announced.

"Did you disassemble the main computer datacore and check the buffers manually?" She had to be more careful with Seven. Seven was considered a senior officer. Besides, she'd been one of the few on _Voyager _who had spared her scorn.

Seven simply shook her head. "I felt it was inefficient."

"It's not efficient. We have to find anything they didn't catch."

For a moment she quailed. Dalby was known as a complainer.

She turned and looked at the team with the eyes of a woman who had put _Equinox's _main computer system back together with only hand tools and the few warm bodies that Rudy had let her draft for the task. For the first time, it occurred to her that while the murder of the Spirits of Good Fortune would never go away, it was far from the only history of _USS Equinox. _There were things she had done that she could take pride in.

"All right," Torres said. "No quibbling. Let's go, people. Transporter room two is waiting. Get your equipment and be there in five minutes."

She waited until the others had dispersed. Marla watched her, suddenly and irrationally convinced that she had screwed up somehow. She stared down at the floor and bit her lip.

"Okay," Torres said. Her face was more reserved than Marla had expected. "Not too bad. Never let a crewman talk back to you like that in public." She essayed a grin. "_I_'d have bounced his head off a few consoles, but you did okay."

"Thank you," Marla said quietly.

"You ready for this?"

Marla nodded. She wasn't sure herself if she was, but this was something she had to do. And this time there would be _Voyager _security officers and crewmen aboard, not just her and a few Section 31 agents who controlled her every move and sought to break her. She tried not to think about what the ship would be like. It was just a job. It was the same means of getting around the issue that she'd used on the first _Equinox. _

"Good," Torres said. "Because once we're on that ship, you're running this shindig."

The news was like a punch to the stomach. _"I_ am?"

"I was on that ship. I didn't find anything." B'Elanna's tone was annoyed at the admission. You know it better. Officially, sure, I'm still in command, but for all intents and purposes this is your party, Ensign."

Giving orders to these people? Nobody had said anything about that. Marla gritted her teeth.

"And if you go hide in a Jefferies tube again, I'll pull you out by the hair this time," B'Elanna said, her face deadpan.

Blood rushed to her face and she cringed. B'Elanna sighed and grinned ruefully.

"I was _kidding,_" she said. "Though you know, you don't have to do this. You can run things from here."

Marla thought about that for a moment and dismissed the idea. "I'll be all right," she said, and suddenly words rose to her mind and lips that weren't confused or torn. "I can do this. I _want _to do this."

Torres nodded slowly and seemed pleased. "All right," she said. "Go get your gear, report to the transporter room, and let's do this."

* * *

The lower corridors of DS9 were not to Kilbourne's liking. He understood the usefulness of the station. Even so, he would have much preferred for the Federation to build its own station and send this Cardassian piece of junk into the Bajoran sun. Didn't anyone bother to think of counterintelligence? The Cardassians would have so many bugs on this station that getting them all would be impossible. Besides, he didn't like the architecture.

Soon, he'd be off this station. This situation had to be cleaned up, pronto. The commodore had wanted no murder, but that wasn't always possible. Sometimes you had to eliminate people.

The communicator on his hip buzzed. He grabbed it and opened it.

"Kilbourne," he said.

"Sir, we're in position.."

"Are stealth transporters on-line?" he asked. Section 31's stealth transporters were a closely guarded secret; so far, no one in the quadrant could detect them. The good commodore would have plausible deniability. No one would know they'd left the station.

"Yes, sir."

He smiled. "Beam us aboard," he said.

A moment later, he was in _X5573's _transporter room. A relieved sigh escaped him. The bridge wasn't far. It was good to be back on his own ship, and it was better knowing that nosey Starfleet types weren't on it. His agents took their places.

"Set a course for _Grambyo," _he said. "It's docked on an upper pylon. Thrusters only. Maintain cloak. Mr. Benning, prepare a boarding party. I want everyone to have phaser rifles."

He watched the _Nova-_class ship grow larger in the viewscreen. It was powered down, and he had to get it away from its moorings. Once it was away from Deep Space Nine, he could decide what to do with it.

"It's time to finish this, once and for all."


	21. Collision Course

_Author's note: _

_Happy Thanksgiving! _

_MistiWhitesun: We'll see if they get her or not._

_JimHawkingJr: Yep, things are winding up...but not quite yet. _

_Bren: While I may not write a series, I did elect to use one of your ideas. And no, it's not B'Elanna and Seven doing the nasty. :) _

The ship was dark and still. Its primary systems were powered down, and only an umbilical from the station supplied it with power. The air was dank and musty. Debris littered the floor. The bridge was silent. All the stations were dark; only a few lights flashed.

Sparkles of light invaded the bridge along with the sound of transport, and the salvage team materialized on the bridge. They took a few moments to survey their surroundings and get their bearings. Seven, efficient as always, reported back to _Voyager _that they were on the ship.

Marla Gilmore looked around and the bridge and felt a lump grow in her throat. She'd been on this ship before, but now it was different. They'd told her she'd been drugged, but she hadn't felt it at the time. Now, she had her own mind, her own eyes.

She crossed over to the engineering station, metal fragments clashing under her boots. They'd gotten _everything _right. Every station that should work worked; every station that didn't work didn't. They'd even gotten the dents in her engineering station right and the little starred crack in the corner of the screen. For a moment she wanted to tap her combadge and ask for an immediate beam-out.

No, she couldn't do that. This was her trial; she _would _prove herself worthy of this second chance. B'Elanna and the captain were counting on her.

She tapped out the necessary commands to bring the turbolifts online. Funny, that. They'd become terrified to use the turbolifts on the real _Equinox. Quit letting your mind wander. Concentrate on the job. _She was aware that everyone else was looking at her.

"Okay," she said. "The computer core is on decks two through four. Takes up a good chunk of ship."

B'Elanna nodded. "All right, people," she said. "Move out."

For everybody else, it was just a ship. They wouldn't understand how eerie it was. They'd gotten _everything. _Every bit of battle damage; every scratch and dent – everything. She expected to see Rudy heading out of the shambles of his readyroom, or Max or Thompson running down to Engineering. Part of her wanted to bring the main computer up and issue a self-destruct order.

"You all right?" B'Elanna asked.

Marla nodded. "This...it's just..._weird__," _she said. "They got everything right."

"Not everything, I hope."

_This is not Equinox. This is not Equinox. _There was something rhythmic in the thought, like a mantra. It helped her focus. _This is not Equinox. It's another ship they beat the tar out of to make it look like Equinox. _She tried to concentrate on the clumping of magnetic boots on the deck, on the mutterings and questions of the salvage team – on anything but what this ship was mocked up to look like.

The access door to the main computer core opened at their approach. Had _Equinox's _door worked? She thought so. It was hard to remember. Her memories of _Equinox _were jumbled with the illusion this ship had presented.

"Okay, Gilmore," B'Elanna said. "Let's hear it."

She stared at the ship's massive computer. This was only part of it, actually; it took two whole decks and stretched throughout the ship. One thing these ships _could _do was crunch data. It hadn't done them a lot of good in the Delta Quadrant.

Her tongue was dry and she worked her jaw. "All right," she said, and put down her tool bag. "We need to shut down the main computer first, then the auxiliaries. We have to actually pull the plug, so this is going to take a while."

Having something to concentrate on helped. She was used to grabbing tools and wading into the thick of it. The others worked around her, occasionally asking questions. They knew engineering, but her knowledge of these vessels was better. The fact that people were actually asking her questions and looking to her for guidance was weird; she'd never expected it. It took perhaps two hours to disassemble enough to where they could fight their way through to the power couplings. But finally, the task was done.

"Everyone, make sure you have your magnetic boots powered on," B'Elanna warned. "I'm not pulling anyone down from the ceiling."

"Parkas, too," Marla said. "It's gonna get cold real quick." She shrugged into her own, remembering the day this had happened for real on the _Equinox. _Then, there had been neither parkas nor magnetic boots; she and Noah had been trying to hold onto something with one hand and fix the thing with the other and ignore how goddam _cold _it was.

The computer squealed a few last garbled messages, and then the ship fell silent. Life support was gone. Weapons, sensors, everything. This was just a hunk of dead metal floating in space. The atmosphere wouldn't leave the ship; there were no hull breaches. But outside, the clutch of absolute zero soon decimated the comfortable temperature that starships maintained. The others clutched themselves and tried to stay warm. Their exhalation turned to steam. Cold nipped at their noses. It wouldn't be too long before the loss of heat because less a discomfort and more a threat to life.

"All right," Marla said. "We need to keep the computers offline for five minutes. When they're completely powered down and we restart them, the diagnostics will come up. We can pull up the original name and hull registry from the diagnostics. They'd have had to do what we just did to hide it. Hopefully they wouldn't have had time."

"Where?" Seven asked.

"On the bridge."

"Anywhere else?" B'Elanna asked. "Otherwise we'll have to go through the tubes, and with the gravity off that'll be fun."

Marla stopped. Yes, B'Elanna was right; if they went into a Jefferies tube now, it would be tricky. If someone's boots lost their grip they'd float up to the top of the ship. There _was _another place that would show what they wanted. Someplace she hadn't been yet on this ship and would prefer not to go.

"Yes," Marla said. "The...science lab. It's closer."

The science lab. She wasn't sure she _wanted _to see that. The real _Equinox's _science lab had been a revolting charnel house. Everything else was perfectly duplicated; she did not want to see if Section 31 had duplicated _that _with the same precision and care.

"You want to go there? I can send someone else."

An icy ball took up residence in her stomach. She felt her hands shake and crammed them into the pockets of the parka. A long, slow breath plumed the air.

"I'll go," Marla offered.

Seven tilted her head. "I shall accompany you," she demanded. "I wish to see this procedure."

Marla swallowed nervously. _Great. _If there was one person on the ship who she could never measure up to, it was Seven. Seven had been threatened with having her brains scooped out and had held firm. What was the ex-Borg thinking? Probably something along the lines of _I want to see what happens when someone is dumb enough to shut down all the computers on the ship. _

"Okay," she muttered.

It was easier than she'd thought to deal in the Jefferies tubes; the boots clamped readily onto the ladder rungs. They weren't hard to move off of them, either. It was klutzier than it would have been in normal shoes, but not too bad. Her gloved hands didn't stick to the rungs, but she was confident enough that they wouldn't end up bobbing like a couple of balloons at the top of Deck One.

The hatch's manual override worked well enough, and then it was onto the deck and on her way. Her heart was larruping along and her palms sweating long before their lights fell upon the door marked _SCIENCE LAB. _Behind her, Seven was maddeningly silent.

Marla closed her eyes for a moment and exhaled. They didn't have a lot of time. If they didn't get _something _on-line, the temperature would keep dropping. On the real _Equinox, _that would have meant a slow death, their bodies perfectly preserved for generations. Here it would just mean beam-out to _Voyager. _But she had taken this assignment, and she didn't want to fail.

But there was more than an assignment, even though that was important. She couldn't exactly put her finger on it – she, an engineer, who had always been scientific and pragmatic in her work. There was the feeling that if she could do this, she would...be better. Somehow. It was vague and indistinct, like a mountain shrouded in fog. But it was just as undeniably there. Somehow, this was something she had to do.

_Why did you have to do this? What next? You gonna slam your fingers in the door a few times after this? Maybe stick your hand in an ODN conduit while it's live? Lieutenant Torres could have sent somebody else. How much is enough? _

"You are nervous," Seven said flatly behind her.

The sudden voice made her jump. "Yeah," she said flatly.

She expected Seven to say something like _There is no reason to be frightened _or _Scans reveal no other persons on the ship _or even _Nervousness causes inefficiency. _ That was the sort of thing that the ex-Borg usually said.

Instead, Seven merely raised an eyebrow and said, "I would feel the same in your position."

Marla tensed. "I'm not sure anyone can really understand," she said, and screwed up her courage. Okay. Last time pays for all. The door to the science lab yielded easily to the manual override.

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the lack of light in the lab. There was a tube in the center of the room that she flinched at, recognizing its purpose. It seemed malevolent, even just sitting there with its door open, like a predator lying in wait for a hungry morsel.

There were whitish lumps, and she frowned at them for just a moment. Then what they were hit her and hit her hard. Her stomach roiled. Only the lack of gravity kept her from falling to the floor.

They were bodies.

Someone had laid the bodies out on the floor and respectfully shrouded them in white sheets. With no gravity, they hovered in mid-air. Some described lazy orbits. Some bumped against the ceiling. Good God, there were so _many _of them. Alien corpses, the bodies of the Spirits of Good Fortune.

A small green hand reached out to her from a shroud as if imploring for help. There was a tag on its wrist, attached by careful Starfleet investigators. _Remains of Unknown Alien, _and a stardate. So many of them, so many dead. How much fuel could they have needed? Her mind shrieked in horror at the sight; the science lab of this ship was _worse _than _Equinox. _The most they had ever done at one clip was five, and that had been a rarity. There had to be at least fifty, dear God, fifty corpses that had been piled up here to be made into fuel.

Nausea grabbed her stomach hard and she crouched. In some corner of her mind, an instructor from Starfleet Academy spoke up: _Cadets, you really, really don't want to throw up in zero-g if you can help it. _She wasn't sure she _could_ help it. Saliva tasted sour in her mouth and she spat, unmindful of the glob of spittle that rose off the deck.

All this was because of her. If she had stood up the first time, none of this would have happened. Section 31 had only done this because the crew of the _Equinox_ had.

She was dimly aware of Seven standing over her, frowning. Wearing the parka with her Starfleet combadge, she looked much more human than she had before. But most of Marla's mind could only gibber at the sight before her.

"Do you wish to be alone?" Seven asked.

Marla shook her head.

"No...I...just..._look _at this...they killed...so many, so many dead all because of us." She bit the inside of her cheek hard, The coppery taste of blood filled her mouth, making her queasy but helping her focus at the same time. She took a deep breath.

"I'm all right," she said.

Seven studied her for a moment. "This is not your fault, Ensign. You were not responsible for these deaths. Section 31 killed these aliens."

Marla sighed and hitched. "Only because they wanted me to build them an enhanced warp device."

Seven crouched and put a hand on her shoulder. "You were kidnapped and subjected to sophisticated interrogation techniques. Your sense of responsibility is misplaced."

Marla let out a low sob. "You can't understand," she said. "When Rudy was going to do brain surgery on you, you held firm. It's not the same. _I _am not the same as you."

Seven shook her head. "I _can _understand," she said. "You think I am beyond reproach. I am not. In the Collective, I was part of assimilating other beings. Even entire races. I must live with that. It consumes emotional resources." She crouched and put a hand on Marla's shoulder, and seemed to be thinking about what she was going to say, groping for words that would never come to a Borg drone. "If I were held on a Borg cube, I am not sure I would have been able to hold out." She looked around the lab and strove for words. "The _Voyager _crew is not perfect. Captain Janeway has elected to give you a second chance. You should give yourself the same."

It was nice to hear, but hard to accept. What if she had done something, anything differently? Could this organized slaughter have been avoided? Why the hell had Section 31 killed enough aliens to get them halfway back to the Caretaker? The senselessness and horror of the lab was something that would remain in her mind for a long, long time.

Her combadge beeped. "Torres to Gilmore." She tapped it.

"Go ahead," she said shakily.

"We're freezing our butts off here. Are we ready?"

Ready? How could she be ready in an industrialized slaughterhouse? "Yes, Lieutenant," she said, and forced herself to stand. "Bring main computer on-line."

There was a hum throughout the ship they could feel as well as hear. A bank of screens came to life a few feet away. Marla stared at the screen, refusing to look at what lay to either side of it. It took a conscious act of will to lift her feet and walk over to the console.

A few nonsense letters spilled over the screen. She ignored those. A startup screen then displayed, and Marla keyed in a few sequences. Her brain barely recognized the patterns her fingers flew in; it just happened. She stared straight at the screen, irretrievably convinced that she would go insane if she looked away and saw the bodies.

"The computer is coming online," Seven reported.

"One sec," Marla said, and keyed in another command.

_REACTIVATING – PLEASE WAIT _

_LOADING VMLINUZ – PLEASE WAIT _

_STARDATE 43923.2 - IS THIS CORRECT? _

Marla keyed _Yes, _even though she didn't know if it was or not.

_BRINGING UP PRIMARY LIFE SUPPORT...OK_

_BRINGING UP BACKUP LIFE SUPPORT...OK_

_BRINGING UP SENSOR ARRAYS...OK_

_BRINGING UP HELM CONTROL...OK_

_BRINGING UP NAVIGATIONAL ARRAY...OK_

_BRINGING UP THRUSTER CONTROL...OK_

_CHECKING CRITICAL SYSTEMS...OK OK OK OK OK _

_USS GRAMBYO NCC-72387 _

A small smile crept over her face even as she thought she still might puke, zero-G or no zero-G. She tapped her combadge. "Gilmore to Torres."

"Go ahead. I hope you have good news."

"I do," she said. "This is the _USS Grambyo, _hull registry NCC-72387."

"Good work, Gilmore," Torres said. "Wait...you're in the _science _lab?"

"Yes," Marla answered.

A moment's pause. "Captain Janeway just told me what was in there. If I'd known, I never would have sent you there. I'm sorry."

Marla closed her eyes and left the lab, standing in the hallway. The ship began to hum as it came back to life, and the climate would return to the norm soon. She closed her eyes and wondered how long the sight of those corpses would remain with her.

"As are we all," she murmured.

* * *

The weight on his mind was intense. He knew better. 

Captain Janeway's words had weighed on him. He'd been a judge for many years. He'd developed a reputation for fairness and justice. The law had been his life, and he had prospered by it.

But he was also a Starfleet officer. The Dominion War had not affected him, personally. He had borne the shame of being safe on Earth while other men went to war and died. So many Starfleet officers and crew had died. The casualty lists had affected him as much as any other person who ever wore the uniform. Those lists of white names on black screens, marching along, a soundless parade of lives cut short. He didn't think those lists would ever totally leave his mind.

Janeway might have thought the case against the _Equinox _crew was cut and dry. He knew better. Starship captains tended to always think they were right, but in the courtroom, defendants had rights. Janeway had sent a crew member aboard _Equinox _without notifying its captain. She had apparently forgotten that the Federation forbade superior Starfleet officers from ordering junior officers to incriminate themselves. None of the _Equinox _crew had gotten so much as a chance to defend themselves in a fair hearing.

All of that had spelled one thing: a big, ugly court battle that the Federation – and Starfleet – did not need right now. Desperate Starfleet officers committing mass murder after years of suffering.

Other Starfleet officers offering the victims of that mass murder the lives of the guilty parties. It would have been a black eye that an already bloodied Federation did not need, and it would've played in the holovids for months.

There were Starfleet officers who would have been sympathetic to the _Equinox _crew. Captain Ransom was not available to stand trial; only four crewman and one former ensign. The defense of 'just obeying orders' wasn't supposed to hold up in a case like that, but war-hardened officers who had learned that the book didn't cover every situation might be sympathetic to officers who had been acting under orders from a superior in a desperate situation.

There were other officers, like Janeway herself, who would not have. He had to give her credit; she'd gotten most of her crew home from the Delta Quadrant. Couldn't she understand that all he was trying to do was keep other Starfleet officers from dying?

It had seemed so easy at the time. A man named Kilbourne had come to see him. At one fell swoop, the entire mess could be averted. It had been simple enough to offer Lessing and Tassoni a dishonorable discharge. Then he'd sweetened Gilmore's offer just enough to make sure she wouldn't fight it and would quietly leave. Just a few criminals getting their richly deserved fate.

Yet he knew what he'd done, even though he tried to ignore it. He'd subverted the law. He had delivered a woman into Section 31's hands, where she would suffer psychological torture, interrogation, and almost certain execution when she was no longer useful.

Commodore Andrew Bass sank into his chair and glanced around. The guest quarters on DS9 were pretty good. It suited his rank. The chair was soft and padded and comfortable. Everything should have been just fine. But it wasn't. He knew better, and that was his curse.

He cleared his throat. "Computer," he said in the same mellifluous tones that had rolled across courtrooms all across the Federation. "Locate Mr. Kilbourne."

_Blooop-palurp. _"There is no such person on the station."

He sighed. He'd known better. "Locate Mr. Benning."

The response was the same.

The bastards. He'd put them on house arrest on DS9. He'd offered them temporary freedom if they stayed on the station and they'd immediately left.

But he'd known better, hadn't he?

He drummed his fingers against the arm of his chair and thought. Were they going to clean things up? Probably. Would they succeed? They might, but they'd promised him nothing would happen, and Janeway had already shown that up for what it was worth.

His fingers floated over to the console before he realized it, as if they had their own volition. What the hell was he doing? Yet there was something that felt right in it. Idly, as if he was a spectator in his own mind, he watched the console open a channel.

* * *

The stealth transporter materialized Kilbourne and his party in Engineering. He unshouldered his phaser rifle and glanced around. No Gilmore. It had been his first guess; where would an engineer be if not Engineering? Most of the good ones were only happy when they were up to their elbows in circuitry, and from what he'd seen, Gilmore was a good one. Too bad she had to be so damned moral. 

He hadn't taken his entire crew with him; most of them were back on the _X5573. _Only a security team of his own. Benning was his second-in-command. He'd brought along Ransom and Burke; they weren't trained for combat, but they could be useful. If they managed to get Gilmore back in custody, then perhaps the situation was salvageable. He didn't know exactly how they would manage to get her to forget what had happened, but he knew that Section 31 Psyops knew how to fold, spindle, and mutilate the human mind better than anyone else in the quadrant.

"All right, gentlemen," he said. "This ship is in enemy hands. We need to take control of this ship, and we need to do so now. I also want to bring our package back into our custody."

His agents might be a little surprised at being ordered to shoot Starfleet officers, but they didn't protest. He expected no less.

"It's damn cold," Benning said. "They seem to have shut down the computers."

Kilbourne thought for a moment. "Then the secondaries should take over," he said.

"They shut those down too."

For another few moments he was lost. No main computer, no secondaries...what the hell were they going to run life-support from?

The answer hit him a moment later. Only one engineer aboard _Voyager _was likely to have experience with losing both. And if both of them were lost, and then brought back up in a controlled manner...

"Shit," he muttered. "All right, gentlemen, we have more problems. They're going to identify the ship." He shook his head. Goddam snoopy Starfleet officers. It was a clever plan, though.

"Move out," he commanded. "If you see Gilmore, stun her if you can. If it's anyone else, shoot to kill. We need to get control of this situation."

The whine of phaser rifles arming was his answer. Kilbourne checked his own and set it to disintegrate. Better safe than sorry.

Section 31 agents moved out from engineering, preparing to take the ship.

* * *

Janeway was feeling mixed pride and concern. 

She knew she was regarded as overly compassionate by other Fleet officers. One prior captain had told her that she didn't seem to understand that actions had consequences. Seven years ago, she had given out second chances. She had given Tom Paris a field commission; she had taken the Maquis into her crew. There had been those who told her she was foolish then. Later, she had given Seven of Nine a second chance to rejoin humanity.

Time had proved her right. Her crew hadn't followed her orders to the letter all the time. There had been days she'd wanted to wring Tom Paris's neck, or Seven's. All the same, the good outweighed the bad. Some people needed to be punished; some people needed to be forgiven.

She'd given Marla Gilmore a second chance, and that would cause some controversy, both throughout the fleet and on her own ship. Yet her first reward for taking that chance had already come: she had the name and hull registry of the fake _Equinox. _

_Grambyo. _Captain Jim Wright's ship. She'd pegged it, too; it was on her list. There was satisfaction in that.

She was concerned, too. She didn't know who she could trust, but she did trust Deep Space Nine's command crew. Their security, as well as her own, had boarded the ship and cataloged its contents, including the grisly piles of corpses in the science lab. She'd been listening in on the salvage team's comm channel, and she had not been expecting Marla Gilmore to go in the science lab. There were steps she expected the ensign to take, but she didn't expect her to throw herself in the fire. There was such a thing as taking it in steps. Dealing with Seven had taught her that if nothing else.

The sound of an automated hail attracted her attention. A moment later, Harry Kim spoke from where he stolidly manned Ops.

"Captain, Commodore Bass is hailing us. He's asking to speak to you privately."

She rose, surprised. What did he want this time? Was it another attempt at a bribe? What bauble did he have to dangle in front of her now? The flagship of the fleet? Promotion to the Admiralty? It didn't matter. She would sooner finish out her career a starship captain who kept her principles than an admiral who had sold out.

"I'll take it in my readyroom," she said, and strode towards the door. For a moment she thought of having Chakotay take the call with her, but it was too late. He would be good on the conn anyway. She sat down behind her desk and summoned the small image of Commodore Bass on her desk.

"Commodore," she said frostily.

"Captain." The commodore looked troubled, as if much was weighing on his mind. That would be only the right thing; there was much that _should _weigh on his mind.

"Commodore, I think you should know something," she said briskly. "I have the name and registry of that ship. It isn't _USS Equinox, _it's _USS Grambyo. _I will be transmitting that information to you and to Starfleet Command. I _expect _that it will be used at the trial of Mr. Kilbourne."

He swallowed. "Captain...Mr. Kilbourne has escaped."

Her face twisted, even as a more pessimistic voice within told her she should not be surprised.

"I allowed them house arrest on the station," he said. "They seem to have ignored their restrictions."

"You did _what_?" she said, staring at him as if he were a roach.

"I allowed them house arrest," he said. "You know, the same way I allowed your Maquis house arrest on _Voyager." _

"You called to tell me that?" Janeway asked, aware that her tone if not her words would constitute insubordination.

"Not really...more...to warn you." He looked at the viewscreen imploringly. His hands jittered and then stopped.

"Captain, I've been trying to keep Starfleet officers from dying unnecessarily. In the Delta Quadrant, you didn't see it the way we did. It...it was rough. A lot of good people came home in body bags."

"I'm not interested in your rationalizations, Commodore," she said.

He paused. "It's not rationalization, Captain," he said. "It's...the truth." He eyed her for a moment, trying to take her measure. "Mr. Kilbourne doesn't like to leave much in the way of unfinished business, Captain. Be careful."

"Why are you telling me this?" she asked.

The commodore sighed. "I can't do this anymore," he said. "I suspect Kilbourne and his friends may pay you a visit. Or pay a visit to the _Grambyo. _In either case...be careful. They're not the sort of people you want as enemies."

Janeway smiled and nodded, suddenly realizing what he meant. "Neither am I."

"I've signed warrants for the arrests of all of the crew you brought aboard," he said. "I'm transmitting a copy of them to you now. That would give you authority to arrest any of them, and return them for trial."

She stopped and nodded, softening a bit. "I appreciate that."

He shrugged. "Better late than never," he said.

She smiled. "It's never too late to do the right thing, Commodore," she said. "If you'll excuse me...,"

"Of course," the commodore said, and cut the connection.

Captain Janeway rose from her readyroom and stormed onto the bridge. Chakotay looked concerned; when the captain came bursting out of the room for her chair, it usually didn't portend well.

"Problem?" he asked.

"Perhaps. Go to Yellow Alert. Harry, open a channel to _Grambyo." _

Harry complied, looking somewhat concerned himself. "Channel open," he said.

"Janeway to away team. You may have company. I want everyone on full security precautions. I want everyone to assemble on the bridge." She turned her head to Tuvok, not missing a beat. "Mr. Tuvok, I want another security team on that ship. As much backup as you can get them. After that, take the conn. Chakotay, you're with me. Grab a phaser rifle."

"Captain," Tuvok said diplomatically, "Scans do not indicate any other presence on the ship other than our away team."

"That doesn't mean they're not there," she said, already heading to the turbolift. Chakotay fell into step behind her.

"Captain, if your theory is correct, you are entering a combat situation."

Janeway sighed. "You heard the order, Mr. Tuvok."

"Yes, captain," Tuvok said, and reluctantly moved to the captain's chair.

In the turbolift, Chakotay gave her a measured look. "This could be dangerous," he observed. "Maybe you should stay on the bridge."

She shook her head. "They're not taking that ship, and they're not taking any of my crew," she said. "This ends _here." _


	22. Stalemate

_Author's note: _

_Well, this took a while, so here we are with some action. Janeway only gets a cameo, but I assure you that she will show up in full Betsy-toting splendor later on. _

_Now the personal notes schtick..._

_Bren: (who emailed me a review when decided that reviewing needed to be turned off) Glad you liked the chapter. Poor Mr. Lessing doesn't really have much role here; I didn't want to clutter things up. He'll probably pop up later. _

_Saavik: (who's probably my most loyal reader – she's been reading my stuff since I started in the Hannibal fandom) Another long-winded Janeway rant? Not yet; next chapter, probably. And there'll be some gore in there for you too. _

_JadziaKathryn: You seem to pick up a lot of the little lines I toss in; glad you like 'em. (Glad you found 'em, too.) You can direct some credit for the Seven/Marla scene to Bren, whose suggestion of such a scene I found an interesting idea. (I do include some reader ideas, so long as they fit the general model of where I'm going – there won't be any Janeway/Chakotay mutual sponge baths here, but if an idea piques my interest I've been known to run with it.) Will Janeway meet Kilbourne? Probably..._

_eScapefreak: Mumps? Yikes! Doesn't sound fun. This American enjoyed his Thanksgiving quite a bit. How will Marla stand up to confrontation? Here's where you get to find out....as for suspense...well...(cue ominous laughter) _

_JimHawkingJr: Oddly, seems to have eaten your review, although I got it in email. Will I write another DS9 or Voyager story? Probably, as long as I get a good idea. And yes, things are gearing up for the final battle. _

_PG: Glad you like the story. Yes, even the commodore had his moment of redemption; Section 31's tentacles don't have everyone in a firm grasp. _

Almost immediately after transporting to the bridge of _Grambyo, _Janeway swung into action. She looked around with steely eyes. The bridge was the same ruined hulk it was before, but seeing it did not unsettle her as it had before. Her crewmen needed her.

Torres and a few others had congregated on the bridge. She wasn't sure where the others were. The half-Klingon stared at her and blinked.

"Captain? What are you doing here?"

"I believe we have company," Janeway answered. "Run a scan, see if you can detect any lifesigns. Where is the rest of your salvage team?"

"I have a few people scanning the memory buffers," Torres replied. "And Gilmore and Seven are in the lab." The corner of her mouth turned down. "I...I didn't know there were all those corpses in the lab. I didn't want her to see it."

Janeway nodded. There wasn't much that could be done for it now. "Do they have a security escort?"

Torres looked pained and shook her head. "No," she admitted.

Ayala shouldered his phaser rifle. "I'll go," he said neutrally.

Janeway nodded tightly. "Do it," she said. He set off without a word, striding over the debris and junk littering the bridge. She watched him depart. Ayala had always seemed to better handle the transition from Maquis to Starfleet better than some of his cohorts. She was confident in his ability to protect them.

"Good call," Chakotay said, echoing her thoughts. "He'll do the job." He took a long moment to look around the bridge. "I don't know whether to compliment them or hate them."

Janeway frowned. "Who?"

"Section 31," he said. "This looks just like _Equinox. _Must've been hard to wake up to."

"I'll settle for stopping them first," she said.

* * *

The console offered some comfort.

Marla turned away from the bodies surrounding her, staring only at the screen and the console, forcing herself not to look. There had been a series of sickening _thumps _when artificial gravity came back online. She didn't want to look. She'd made herself go in here, but she could only face her past so far, and this was the limit.

"What are you doing?" Seven asked.

Marla's fingers flew over the console. "I can access a lot of ship's functions from here," she said. "Back on _Equinox – _the real _Equinox –_ we set up the lab to almost act as a duplicate bridge in case we lost the bridge. I can access transporters, the warp core, weapons, and some helm functions. It leaves a lot to be desired, but it works." For a moment it occurred to her how much on _Equinox's _desperate journey that phrase could have covered.

Seven's combadge twittered. "Janeway to Seven."

"Go ahead," Seven said.

"Are you in the lab?"

"Yes, captain." Seven glanced over. "Ensign Gilmore and I both are here."

"We're sending Ayala down to you. Wait until he gets there, then proceed back to the bridge. We believe there may be intruders aboard. Are you armed?"

A chill ran down Marla's spine that had nothing to do with the temperature. Intruders? They had to be coming for her. Would they kill Seven? Try and do brain surgery on her? What would they do to her, for that matter? Take the ship and try and do the whole thing all over again? The idea was frightening. She could not let that happen again.

"Perhaps we should beam to the bridge," Seven observed.

"No," Janeway said, the voice tinny but commanding over the comm. "Don't take the chance. Just sit tight. Are you armed?"

"I am not." She glanced over at Marla. Marla shook her head. She had tools, most of which could be used as weapons in a pinch, but no phaser. "Neither is Ensign Gilmore."

An idea occurred to her. This _was _a science lab, and the designers of the _Nova _class had foreseen that its crew might need to experiment on hazardous materials. She brought up a series of commands on the screen. A good engineer had to be able to deal with computers, and what she wanted wasn't very difficult. Seven tilted her head and looked interested in what she was doing.

"Ayala will be down there in a few minutes. Let us know if you hear anything."

"Understood, captain," Seven said, and cut the connection. "What are you doing?"

"Just an insurance policy," Marla said.

* * *

The waiting was maddening. He wanted action. The _Voyager _crew had to be somewhere on this damn ship. Where were they? His men were all equipped with sensor dampeners; the Starfleeters wouldn't be able to track them via the ship's internal sensors.

This was risky. When _Grambyo _had been parked out in the middle of deep space, there had been much less risk. Now, they were right on top of things, here at Deep Space Nine. All the same, he knew what could be done. Ransom and Burke had brought along a psyops field kit; they had enough drugs and such that if they got their hands on Gilmore, they could have her quiet, sedated, and willing to cough up things like whatever command codes they might want.. Right now, he'd settle for her knowledge of the ship. They'd have to kill the Starfleet crew, disconnect from the pylon, and get the damn ship out of here. Maybe take it through the wormhole to the Gamma Quadrant. He could have a rudimentary cloaking device thrown on it, bring it back, and then worry about the rest later.

"Make sure to monitor any communications between _Voyager _and _Grambyo,_" he directed.

Benning nodded. For a moment Kilbourne toyed with the idea of sending a saboteur to _Voyager. _Maybe if Janeway's own crew was threatened she would go back and mind her own damn business. He dismissed the thought; he needed everyone he had, and Captain Janeway had already proved many times over that she wouldn't mind her own damn business.

It would have gone much, much easier if she had. He'd have to take care of her. Starfleet officers who made Section 31's enemies list often disappeared one way or another. It wouldn't be now; she was the darling of the Federation right now, and she had thrown it all away to rescue a woman who had shamed Starfleet and embarrassed the Federation. But at some point, Janeway would be vulnerable. He would see her broken and battered on the floor of one of their cells. Perhaps one of the cells aboard the _X5573, _if he could manage it.

His men had checked out the lower decks and found nothing. No Starfleet crew. They'd set up transporter shields; if _Voyager _wanted to try beaming security details into parts of the ship that Section 31 had taken, the patterns would be automatically dispersed. If they wanted to put their security officers back together again, that would take a while.

Careful scans had revealed two life forms in the science lab, one heading down towards them, and a large group on the bridge. As he watched, two more life signs joined the gaggle on the bridge. He grinned. Janeway. One of them _had _to be Janeway. It was about time. He wasn't sure, but he strongly suspected that Gilmore was one of the two life signs in the lab.

"Move to intercept that fellow moving down to the science lab," he said. "He's blocking us from our package."

Two agents moved to the front, phaser rifles high and aimed. Kilbourne stepped into place behind them. He was mildly surprised Janeway had sent only one. He must be pretty good. It didn't matter; he'd have to fight off four Section 31 agents, and no one could win that battle.

The door to the science lab was ahead. He could see a shadow darkening the corridor. His agents weren't soldiers; they were better. Trained to think for themselves, they fired their phaser rifles as soon as they could acquire a target. Section 31 had better weapons for clandestine work than Starfleet did; the bolts flew silently down the hall.

The shadow ducked back behind a bulkhead before they hit. Kilbourne raised an eyebrow. This fellow _was _good. He strained his ears and heard a quiet voice, thin with tension.

"Ayala to Chakotay. I'm taking fire. I need backup."

"On our way," came the response.

His agents were already moving forward, aiming at the end of the hall. If the _Voyager _security officer stuck his head out, he'd get a phaser blast parting his hair. If anyone else did – say, a certain redheaded starship captain who didn't know when to mind her own damned business – they'd get plastered too.

A few other voices came from down the hall, but ultimately it didn't matter. His agents had the initiative, and three agents at the forefront were able to pin down the _Voyager _security teams quite nicely. Slowly but surely, Kilbourne gained control of more and more of the corridor until finally he was at the science lab doors. He checked his tricorder. Still there. That surprised him; didn't Gilmore have the common sense to realize that there was only one way in and out of the science lab? Or perhaps she was still broken, a scared little mouse terrified and waiting for the cat to come get her.

"Keep them pinned down," he directed. "Benning, you're with me."

The door to the science lab opened easily. That surprised him just a bit. Didn't these people know _anything _about being in a hostile situation? He stepped into the lab, and it took his eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness. He stepped briskly to the side, searching for movement that might signal an enemy.

Marla Gilmore and Seven of Nine stood in one corner of the lab. Light from a nearby terminal painted their faces, making them look ghostly. They were eying him back without any fear. Strange. Gilmore's hands were crammed into her parka pockets. A weapon? He didn't think so; if she had a phaser, she'd have taken it out.

A glance outside indicated that the doors to the lab were comfortably behind his lines. He took out his own communicator. The two women seemed wary, and rightfully so. Marla Gilmore was going back into Section 31's custody, and there were plenty of Section 31 scientists who would have given their eyeteeth to dissect the Borg drone.

"Bring Ransom and Burke up here," he directed into the communicator. Gilmore tensed at that but said nothing. Kilbourne smiled pleasantly and put his communicator back on his belt. He displayed open hands.

"Now, ladies, we have you surrounded," he said kindly. "Let's do this in a civilized manner, shall we? Put your hands on your head, come over here, and we'll do this with a minimum of fuss. We won't hurt you if you cooperate."

"Your offer is nonsensical," Seven said scornfully. "You subjected Ensign Gilmore to interrogation procedures that were unethical and illegal. You would not refrain from doing so again. I do not wish to discover what fate you might have in store for me."

Kilbourne smiled tightly again. "Perhaps. All the same, I must point out that you are unarmed, and I have several men with phasers, so you don't have much choice but to obey me. Otherwise, I'll simply use superior force." His eyes touched Gilmore's. She was afraid, but not a coward. She flinched, but stood strong. Her eyes were wary on his. "Come, Ms. Gilmore. You'd like to prove something to the rest of that benighted crew, wouldn't you? I'll tell you what. Come with me voluntarily and I'll let your Borg drone friend go." It wasn't true – the Borg drone was destined for a Section 31 vivisection table as soon as possible – but she didn't need to know that.

She drew herself up and studied him as if he were a fascinating example of alien engine technology. It wasn't what he had expected of her; she either didn't seem to understand the fact that several men with phasers were backing him up or she didn't think it was a problem.

"So," she said conversationally. "You're Mr. Kilbourne."

He started. In the normal scheme of things, he hadn't wanted Marla Gilmore to know he existed, let alone refer to him by name.

"Some people call me that," he admitted, and took a step forward.

Almost immediately, his toes tingled. An unpleasant shock raced up his leg, briefly cramping the muscles of his calf. In front of him, a bit of white interference sparkled into existence before turning invisible again. He smiled and nodded.

"Force fields," he said. "My, you _are _a clever girl, aren't you?"

"This is a science lab," Gilmore told him flatly. "We handle hazardous materials sometimes. Of _course _there are force fields."

Kilbourne chuckled. "Computer, lower force fields."

_Bloop-palurp. _"Voice access is restricted," the computer informed him.

Gilmore smiled coolly back at him. "Sorry," she said. "Senior officers of _USS Equinox _only."

"That's not a concern," Kilbourne informed her. He gestured behind him for Ransom and Burke. Ransom gave Gilmore a concerned look and shook his head.

"Computer, lower force fields. Authorization Ransom, four gamma six."

The computer seemed to consider that for a moment, then emitted strange sounds; to Kilbourne it sounded like a cat being dipped in water and strangled simultaneously. It finally emitted a final choking noise and announced, "Unable to comply."

Marla Gilmore reached into the pocket of her parka and pulled out a metal case. Wires trailed from it. She opened it to display a few isolinear chips.

"Sorry, Rudy," she said softly. "When we put the main computer back together, I pulled out the chips that had your voice authorization on them. Max's too. But you're not really Rudy, are you? " She smiled again. "This isn't your ship any more. It's the captain who runs the ship, but to really screw things up you need the chief engineer."

Kilbourne paused. He couldn't get at her. All the same, Marla Gilmore had painted herself into a corner: she couldn't get out of the science lab. The force fields that protected her from him also kept anybody from getting a transporter lock on her. It would block her combadge signal, too.

"You've made quite the Mexican standoff here," Kilbourne said. "What are you going to do? Sit there until you starve to death?"

Marla shrugged. "Security is on its way," she said indifferently.

Kilbourne thought for a moment, smiled coldly, and shook his head. "You mean the dark-haired fellow who was coming to your rescue? I'm sorry. We stunned him and brought him to our ship. He's being questioned now. Once we know what he does – and we will – who knows what could happen?"

Ransom stepped forward. Kilbourne watched Gilmore carefully: yes, even though she knew the truth, there were still psychological reins that her former captain held. He could see conflicting emotions play out on her face.

"Marla," Ransom said. "Let's end this. You know people will die otherwise. Haven't you seen enough death?"

"Besides," Burke said from behind him, "you _know _you can never go back. Do you think anyone on _Voyager _will ever respect you?" He chuckled and shook his head. "You know better. You're the outcast there. You always will be."

Kilbourne waited a bit before chiming in himself. "I won't kill you, because I need you. But when that field comes down – and you _know _it will – I'll kill the Borg drone if I have to. Lower the field and come along quietly, and I'll let her go free, along with the security guard we captured. Otherwise, I'll kill everyone in a Starfleet uniform who I see, and their blood will be on your hands." He spread his own. "It's up to you."

She stopped and stared at him hard for several moments, clearly trying to discern if he could carry out his threat. The weakness in Starfleet officers was usually there; they didn't want people to die unnecessarily. In her case, it was there in spades. Kilbourne didn't care if half of Starfleet died, so long as their deaths got him somewhere. It was a weakness on her part and a strength of his.

"Why?" she asked. "Can you tell me that? Why did you do all this to me?"

Kilbourne shook his head. "You're stalling for time," he said. "It won't work."

Her eyes flicked across his. She turned and looked at the Borg drone, then turned back to him. Her hands came out of the parka and described a weighing motion that put him in mind of the scales of justice. Then she watched him silently for a few moments before reluctantly speaking.

"Tell me why you did this and I'll lower the field," she said abruptly.

Kilbourne sighed. Here it was, the justification. He'd seen it with other interrogations. Sometimes they just wanted to know why before bowing to the inevitable. All the same, it was exasperating; he didn't like being boxed in. _He _decided his options, not some blonde mass-murdering engineer.

"Oh, let me guess," he said scornfully. He raised his voice in a high-pitched mockery of her own. "'We were starving, we were desperate. That's why we did what we did. Why did _you _do this?'" He dropped to his normal tone.

"Your enhanced warp drive is faster than anything else we've seen. We can't get transwarp to work right, and nothing else works. Yours does. With your drive, we could have gotten behind Romulan defenses before they could have ever gotten their guard up. We'd have done what we had to do and gotten back behind our lines in less than ten minutes. Three days later, the Romulan Empire would have been a shadow of its former self, and we would have won." He shook his head. "There. Are you happy? We wanted your damn drive. That's why we took this ship and put you on it. Nothing too deep or meaningful, but effective. Now shut down the force field."

She moved slowly over to the console and tapped out a few commands. He waited for the flicker that would tell him she had dropped it It did not come; instead, a hum from behind him told him that she had now blocked off the exit to the lab with another force field, boxing him and his agents in.

"I lied," she said stoutly. "Complain to my commanding officer."

Kilbourne pursed his lips. Annoyance bolted through him. Now he was cut off as surely as she was: he couldn't signal his men or beam off the ship. "Ms. Gilmore, you're trying my patience," he said thinly. "Now listen. Lower that force field now. If you don't, I assure you, I will take both you and the Borg drone back to my ship, and I will see to it that you sit and watch while her fingers are cut off one by one."

"If I _don't _lower the field," Marla reminded him, "you can't do any of that, can you?"

Kilbourne watched her carefully. She was afraid of him; he could see that in her eyes. But she wasn't going to spook and do anything stupid. Facts were facts; he had been put in check pretty neatly.

Gilmore's combadge twittered, and a staticy voice he recognized as Janeway's came from it.

"Gil...what happened? We can't pick...on sensors...we're getting down there....everything all right? We're getting down...," The fractured words vanished in hissing static.

"Stalemate, Ms. Gilmore," Kilbourne informed her. "You've got me, but my agents control this part of the ship. The cavalry will _not _be coming to your rescue. You've got nowhere to go. Eventually we'll cut off the power to the lab, and then where will you be?" He chuckled and shook his head. "I'll make the offer one final time. Surrender yourself, and I'll let the rest of the _Voyager _crew go unmolested. If I have to force you out of there, I'll exact a price in blood. It's up to you."

The ensign sighed, looked at Seven, then back at the agents surrounding her. She closed her eyes, let out a slow breath through her nose, and then suddenly seemed peaceful, as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

"Then there's only one way to resolve this," she said, and turned to tap out a sequence on her console. Another forcefield shimmered into view between her and the Borg drone. The Borg looked surprised. Kilbourne's brow furrowed. What the hell was she doing?

"I'm sorry, Seven," Marla Gilmore said. "Truly, truly sorry."

Then Kilbourne saw what she had in her hands, and he knew what she meant to do. His eyes widened. Was she insane?

"No!" he shouted.

"Oh, yes," Marla Gilmore said, and smiled.


	23. Final Battle

_Author's notes: _

_Well, this one is winding down. It seems a lot of you expressed displeasure with the cliffie ending of the last chapter. Unfortunately, you see, I did not sign the Cliffhanger Non-Proliferation Treaty, so there isn't much that can be done for it. _

_PG: Glad you liked the suspense. Here's where you see if Marla survives. _

_Worker72: I'm not planning to add the Founders or the Dominion into this story; Section 31 is our designated bad guys. Perhaps in another story though; if it fits the idea. _

_JimHawkingJr: Glad you liked the chapter. _

_MistiWhiteSun: Glad you liked it, even with the cliffie. _

_JadziaKathryn: Kill you with suspense? If that were true Saavik would be dead long ago (she's followed me from my Hannibal fics.) Glad you like the POV switching; there are a few POV's I've been trying to show, and so that's why we swap now and then. The scenes in the last chapter worked best with Kilbourne's POV, so I stuck with it. _

_Bren: Glad you liked the cliffhanger. :) Hopefully this chapter will show up when I upload it. _

_Saavik: You may quote Scotty. As for the cliffie, here is the resolution. _

_Webster82: Will she or won't she? ;) _

_Katharina-B: Kill Ayala? Nah. Marla gets to stand up a little for herself; I thought it was a good idea for her. (And you and Saavik seem to be on the same wavelength.) Here is your awaited chapter. _

_Stoko: Yeah, that was a cliffhanger. Here's more. :) _

_This isn't how it's supposed to be, _Kathryn Janeway thought.

Combat was something she knew all about. She wasn't afraid of combat. She'd even been in battles _on _a ship before, as well as _between _ships. She had her phaser rifle, and she was not afraid of fighting.

But this was the first time she had ever fought on a ship that was docked at a Federation space station. Within just a few hundred meters of this ship, people were going about their business. Other ships were being repaired. Quark was making money at his bar. Dr. Bashir was treating people. Yet here was a war zone, barely a heartbeat away.

Ayala had come under fire, but his time in the Maquis had served him well. He had wisely chosen to retreat, which the Maquis didn't like to do. She agreed with his decision; their enemy outgunned any one man. A contingent of security officers were fighting their way down towards him now. Janeway was with them.

The tactical situation wasn't perfect, but tactical situations rarely were. The bridge was in their hands. Section 31 currently held Engineering and the lower decks. Colonel Kira had helpfully dispatched the security forces aboard DS9 to the _Grambyo, _but they hadn't arrived yet. Besides, with the lower decks in enemy hands, they couldn't enter through the docking pylon. The first attempts had been driven off with heavy fire. Even transporting could be risky; DS9's security personnel had tried to beam into Engineering and failed. She couldn't worry about their fates now; she had her own problems.

She liked commanding from the front lines. Tuvok would've had a hissy fit if he knew, but there was something exhilarating in being right behind her troops. They knew she shared the same risks, and they respected her for it. All the same, it meant she was in the line of fire, so she had to be careful.

They'd lost contact with Gilmore and Seven in the lab. From the bridge, they could tell that someone had raised the lab's forcefields, and set them strong enough to block their combadge signals and prevent transporters from working. That was not good; Janeway would have much preferred to pluck her unarmed crewmen to safety and allow the heavily armed security teams to take their places.

They could only work with what they did know: there was no reason for Section 31 to raise them, therefore it had to be her people. They hadn't come back down, so her crewmen were probably still behind them. If Section 31 had gotten the two, they would have transported them off the ship. They hadn't, so they were probably still on board. Janeway knew the old saying about 'when you assume', but she didn't have anything better to go on.

The ship's Master Situation Display told her that the science lab was just over the warp core. The sound of phaser rifles and whatever sensor readings they could pick up told her that the science lab was currently behind enemy lines. Section 31 had some sort of personnel cloaking technology in addition to ship cloaking technology; the team on the bridge hadn't been able to pick up much of them. B'Elanna was on it; she knew all of the Maquis tricks to fool sensors, and if Section 31's tricks were based on those, she'd find a way around it.

Janeway hoped her engineer succeeded. She could use some help about now. Her own phaser rifle was heavy in her arms as she ducked around a corner, fired, and ducked back before the enemy could return fire. She knew there were officers under her who found humor in the large weapon – usually officers whose last names were the same as French cities – but in a battle situation, having the extra firepower was well worth it.

Tuvok was coordinating the defense of the upper decks; both his own security officers and whatever Deep Space Nine could get on the ship were ensuring that Section 31 could not get men into their territory. He was good at that. Unfortunately, so was Mr. Kilbourne; every Jefferies tube or graviton lift they'd tried had been choked off at one point or another. Section 31 personnel had driven off their attacks.

Decks one and two were under her control, and she could hold those indefinitely. Deck three was currently the battleground. She had to win that battle. Kathryn Janeway wanted to punch through the no-man's-land and get Starfleet officers in a beachhead on Deck Four. She didn't even need to seize all of Deck Three; all she needed was one goddam Jefferies tube. It wasn't lost on her that Kilbourne – or someone he trusted – was lurking below her with a cadre of Section 31agents, trying to get _his _men onto Deck Two and see what, if any, inroads he could make on her territory. Perhaps she ought to go back to the bridge and try from there; at least she might be able to better make a plan of attack. All the same, she wanted to see this through, and she wanted to get through to her trapped crewmen.

Ayala was roaming Deck Four, evading fire and looking for a way back to safety. There was something maddening in hearing him over the comms. She could hear him, scan him, talk with him...and she couldn't get to him. At any moment, a Section 31 agent could kill him.

She turned and saw Chakotay appearing around a bend. He held a phaser rifle and had a pack on his back. Her brow furrowed; he was supposed to be on the bridge. Still, perhaps he had an idea. Had he ever had to engage in deck-to-deck combat?

"Report," she said.

"I have an idea," he said. "It's not easy, but it might work."

"What is it?" she asked.

He shucked the pack off one arm and showed her its contents: several small cylindrical objects with triggers. They looked homemade and somehow malevolent. Even before he spoke, she knew these devices were meant to kill.

"Photonic grenades," he said. "B'Elanna was able to scramble these up once we got the parts beamed over. We used them in the Maquis sometimes. They're not pretty, but they do the job."

She took a moment to think. It wasn't a nice way of fighting, but sometimes you couldn't fight nice. She had three crewmen behind enemy lines. That wasn't a situation she wanted to be in.

"Do it," she ordered resolutely.

Tension made her hands flex on her rifle as he opened the hatch to the Jefferies tube. She felt her stomach clench as phaser bolts from below struck the walls beside his head. The metal cylinders clattered against the walls, then dropped down a bit. She held her breath for a few seconds, waiting.

She was expecting a loud explosion, her nerves twitching in anticipation. Instead, there were two hoarse coughs: _Crump! Crump! _They were felt more than heard; the deck shook under her feet. A moment or two more passed, and she bit her lip. There was no return fire.

"It's clear," Chakotay said hurriedly, and began to clamber down the ladder. She followed him, calmly issuing orders for some security officers to follow them and for others to stay behind and guard this one precious point of entry into Section 31's part of the ship.

She scrambled through the tube and stood up, glancing around at her new territory. Deck Four. There was no sign of the agents who had guarded this entry point; the photonic grenade hadn't simply killed them but vaporized them. Only a few scorch marks on the wall indicated they had ever been there. She felt her stomach clench at the thought, but reminded herself it was necessary. More security officers were coming through and she had to get out of their way lest she be bowled over; while she had the rank, they had the advantage of size and weight.

A shadow fell against the wall, and Janeway pointed her phaser rifle at it, her finger curling on the trigger. The figure raised its hands.

"It's me, captain! Ayala."

Janeway paused, just a few iotas of pressure away from firing. "Step forward so we can see you," she said sternly.

The figure stepped out into the hallway, rifle held high. It was Ayala, tall, dark, and professional. She sighed and let the rifle point at the ground.

"What can you tell us, Mr. Ayala?"

The former Maquis let out a breath slowly. "This deck is _crawling _with them," he said. "Gilmore and Seven are in the science lab. I think one of them raised force fields. There's at least ten of them all clustered around the lab, trying to get the fields down. I can't get too close."

Chakotay held up the bag of grenades. Janeway stopped. She knew what those would do to a large group of people at close range. At this point, it couldn't be helped. Would the science lab's force fields be enough to protect her crewmen? She hoped so.

"All right," she said.

"I did see Gilmore holding this...thing," Ayala said. "I'm not sure what it is."

"A weapon?"

Ayala shrugged. "Funny-looking one, if it is. It was cone-shaped and had a lot of holes. Silvery. I've never seen it before."

Janeway's eyes widened. "That's the--," she began.

A long, keening whine interrupted her.

* * *

Sweat was pouring down her back, and great patches of it were developing under her arms. She was nervous, but resolute. This was it: the last time paid for all. She would make her last time the right one. Marla Gilmore stood, holding the Ankari summoning device in both hands, aiming it at Kilbourne and his men as if it were a phaser rifle. A yellowish fissure began to come into existence above it. 

She reached over with one hand to touch the console, lowering the force field that separated her from the men of Section 31. Seven would remain safely boxed in the corner Marla had put her in. There were at least ten men outside the lab, but they wouldn't be able to get in until all this was over.

"You fool!" Burke yelled. "They'll kill you, too!"

Marla knew that; if these aliens had a Ten Most-Wanted List, her name was definitely on it. But hopefully, somehow the aliens might know who their tormentors had been this time around. They might have a right to vengeance against her, but at least her death would have some meaning.

When she had first seen the mutagenic life-forms, they had left the fissure lazily, with the casual grace of aliens in no hurry. Not this time. Two of them flew from the fissure like arrows, determined to attack their attackers in the few seconds they had in this dimension. Seeing them brought fear: their teeth were bared and their arms outstretched for battle. Dimly, she could hear Seven yelling something.

Kilbourne dodged and rolled, firing his phaser. One alien dropped. The other swooped low in a deadly arc and attacked another man . For a split second, Marla could see him clearly in the dim light of the lab. Reddish hair, cut quite short. Handsome, rough-hewn features. Electric blue eyes. She'd seen him before: he had been the man back on Earth who had asked her her name and then started this whole thing.

Then the alien grabbed him in a deadly embrace. She stared helplessly, unable to avert her eyes. She'd seen this before. A puff of steam rose around his body, as if his soul was leaving it. And well it should have, if he had one: his body instantly dessicated under the alien's touch. That handsome face was transformed into a horribly dried mummy's in the space of less than a second.

"_Benning is down!" _Kilbourne cried, although it was far too late for the other man to hear. The alien swooped down again, and the false Max Burke shared the fate of the man he had posed as. The two bodies fell to the deck, their teeth bared horribly.

There was a faint _Crump! Crump! Crump! _from outside, but she paid it little heed. The forcefield was still up, so nothing else mattered. The first alien re-entered the fissure, and another took its place. Marla let the summoning device fall to the deck and backed up slowly until her back pressed the wall. The alien was trying to get to Kilbourne, but for an older man he was quick on his feet and good with a phaser; it had to dodge blasts that came uncomfortably close to her.

The alien turned then, and looked at her. Marla watched it, feeling her knees tremble and her entire body rack with shuddering. The creature had beady eyes, flat and staring. At first, they hadn't been sure the aliens were sentient. Now, she had no doubt. There was reason in those eyes: it was clearly trying to figure out the best way to get to her. She held up her hands in surrender.

Was there hate in those eyes, or simply revenge? Did this alien want her to suffer before it killed her? Would it simply do its duty, quickly and humanely? It didn't matter. She'd known her lifespan would be measured in seconds if not minutes when she activated the device. Whatever happened, it would be over quick.

Seven was yelling at her to lower the forcefields, but she could only stare at the creature, the alien, the Spirit of Good Fortune, staring helplessly at it like a mouse and a snake. Time seemed to slow down and stop. The creature hovered in the air, watching her with the selfsame deadly, hypnotic interest. Now it would begin a short, fast flight through the air; a predator's strike. After that, perhaps a second's pain, then nothingness.

"I know what you're going to do," she told it, her tone shaky. "If it means anything...I'm sorry." Then she raised her chin, closed her eyes, and tried to await the inevitable with some kind of dignity.

Something hit her then, hard, and pushed her to the ground. She let out a frightened cry, expecting a flash of deadly energy to course through her body. Instead, two voices spoke. One was male and close to her.

"Are you all right, Ensign?" it asked.

She opened her eyes slowly to see not an alien being bent on revenge, but the figure of Commander Chakotay hunched over her from where he had pushed her to the floor. For a moment, she stared at him in confusion, genuinely amazed to still be alive. For a moment her own voice floated to her ears: _But, but we're the only humans in the Delta Quadrant. _Then he would say _That's what we used to think, _and put a locator beacon on her neck and beam her back to _Voyager. _

"Surrender your forces."

That voice was female, stern, farther away from her. She craned her neck to look past Chakotay and saw the figure of Captain Kathryn Janeway, her rifle aimed directly at Kilbourne. The muzzle was a few inches away from his temple. Her eyes burned holes in the Section 31 command agent. She seemed deadly serious. Marla had no doubt that if the older man did not comply, Janeway would shoot him right then and there. Behind her, Ayala was calmly bringing Ransom into custody.

How had they gotten in? Was that phaser rifle enough to bring down force fields? It sure _looked _like it could; the thing was big enough to use against starbases. She could see the alien hovering over Chakotay's shoulder and fear bolted through her. She hadn't wanted to take anyone from _Voyager _with her; that was why she had raised another force field to box Seven in.

The alien looked at the newcomers as well. Chakotay turned to face it and held up an open hand, letting his phaser rifle lower to the ground. Marla started; if the alien killed Chakotay she didn't know what she would do.

"No," he said gently. "Not this time. We're taking care of it."

The alien looked at him for a moment more, then shifted its head to look at her with its beady, inhuman eyes. Anger, curiousity, contempt, distrust – she could see it all. She shrank away from it. Then, with a gesture of dismissal, it turned and flew back into its dimensional fissure, leaving the humans to the ship.

Kilbourne let out a frustrated sigh. "You don't know when to leave well enough alone, do you?" he asked quizzically.

"Surrender your forces and some of them will live. I'll hunt them all down if I have to. We have backup arriving from the station and photonic grenades being issued to my officers; I doubt you can say the same." She poked him with the rifle. "I'm _not_ joking, Mr. Kilbourne."

The Section 31 commander deflated. "I need to take my communicator off my belt."

The muzzle of the rifle never wavered. Marla found herself wondering if he would actually do it, and if Janeway would even let him. Could a man like that be trusted? He'd managed to worm his way back from defeat before. All the same, Marla didn't know if she could pull the trigger, if it had been her behind the phaser rifle. She'd seen too much death to want to create any more.

"Proceed," Janeway said icily, making it quite clear that she'd vaporize half his skull if she suspected something.

He took a small device from his belt and opened it. For a moment, he cleared his throat and looked thoughtful. Then he raised it to his lips.

"All agents, stand down," he said disgustedly. "Repeat. All agents, stand down. We're not winning this one today. Kilbourne out."

Janeway did not lower the rifle an iota, but moved her finger away from the trigger. Marla still wondered if she would shoot. From the corner, Seven spoke.

"May I be released now?"

Marla smiled nervously. "Sure," she said, and rose shakily to her feet. Lowering the field around Seven was easy. Janeway looked each of her crewmen over in turn.

"Mr. Chakotay, get them back on _Voyager. _I only want armed security on this ship until the rest of the resistance is mopped up."

Chakotay nodded and gestured to her. Marla went along, not at all sorry to leave the lab. Seven followed her, watching the detained Section 31 agents with fascination. Marla found herself thinking of when the three had last been in the same room, when they'd ordered her to provide the codes to _Equinox's _enhanced warp device. _You said you wanted to learn more about humanity. I guess we're not exactly prized examples. I'm sorry. _Was there ever going to be a time that _didn't _weigh on her mind? Was the crew of _Voyager _really willing to accept her back into the fold, or was it like Noah suspected – that this amnesty existed only so long as she was useful in achieving another goal?

Seven's eyes met her own, and she flinched on reflex. Had the Borg drone's thoughts been anything like her own? Probably not: Seven had always been accepted immediately into _Voyager's _society. The beloved did not often think of the outcasts.

"Tell me," Seven said suddenly. "How long would it have taken you to reconstruct the enhanced warp device?"

"Seven, not now," Chakotay admonished.

Marla shuddered. "It's all right. I can answer it. To do the work...a week, perhaps ten days. You have to allow for shakedown."

"So if you had complied with their orders and reconstructed the device, it would be functional and in their possession now. And most probably being used in the commission of genocide."

Marla shrugged. "I'm glad it's not," she said.

"As am I. Once again, you've taught me a great deal."

The transporter beam clasped all three, returning them to _Voyager. _


	24. Homecoming

_Author's note: _

_Well, this is it...the close of this little tale. It's been fun, and there will probably be more stories to come. Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed. _

_Firebirdgirl: That was a cliffhanger? Not really; I've done far worse. _

_Mistiwhitesun: Yep, Marla and Seven have been sort of 'sister' characters in this. _

_Stoko: Here's the answer to your question. _

_Bren: Cliffies every chapter? Heh – don't read some of my Hannibal fics, I did that in a few. Glad you liked the battle. Just this chapter remains. _

_Saavik: Here are the loose ends, along with a few things you'll recognize..._

_Webster82: Yeah, I meant to get her out alive – killing her would have been, well, overkill. _

_JimHawkingJr: Glad you liked it. _

_JadziaKathryn: Here is your wish. :) _

_eScapefreak: Curses, foiled again with escaping the cliffhanger. Yep, Marla has her place in Voyager's crew. I'm toying with an idea for a story in which you might find your homeland is still a going concern in the 24th century – we'll see. _

The sun was setting over San Francisco., about to be swallowed by the Pacific. Crowds moved briskly along the streets. Many were in Starfleet uniform; others were in civilian clothes. A man and woman walked along the sidewalk, looking for the broad building that was the Starfleet Justice Annex. He wore a teal-shouldered uniform; she wore a gold-shouldered one.

"It's good to see you back in uniform," Marla Gilmore said thoughtfully.

Noah Lessing smiled and touched the gray collar of his shirt. "You, too," he said. "Still, that's Starfleet for you. They dishonorably discharge me and then they yank me back." He glanced down at the sheet of yellow flimsy in his other hand, which told him in very stilted legal language that whereas Starfleet Command had 'discovered reservations as to the justice and fairness of his plea agreement and dishonorable discharge, the aforementioned plea of GUILTY is revoked, and the dishonorable discharge is hereby nullified and void', and he was once again Crewman Noah Lessing, and he was ordered to report to duty on _USS Voyager _no later than two days from receipt of the notice, and so on. It went on for a few paragraphs, but that was the gist of it. "It's good to be back."

"Angelo said he didn't know if he wanted to come back," she said absently.

"I saw the letter. I don't blame him a bit. He's got a good thing going – he found some little colony where they've got something like five thousand people. They let you homestead, so as soon as he gets off the ship he'll have a farm. He's going to teach science to high school kids and farm. He'll never have to set foot on another starship, and nobody on that planet is ever going to care a crap that there was once a ship named _Equinox. _If I had that arrangement, I'd think damned long and hard before giving that up._" _

Marla smiled. "But you came back. Even though you said you don't trust Captain Janeway."

Noah shrugged. "Maybe I'm hoping my better judgment is mistaken. Maybe if we're worth a second chance, Janeway is. If not, I can always transfer or quit, right?" He gestured around. "Besides, everybody is going to be on Earth for a while, which is nice. We'll all get shore leave, and this time we get it too."

Marla chuckled. "Everyone's had shore leave already," she said. The starship had been here for a week. This time, Captain Janeway had heaved all of Kilbourne's command structure – those who hadn't been killed – into the brig. She'd been clearly nervous about handing them over to Starfleet Command. Marla wasn't sure, but she was willing to bet that a lot of arm-twisting had been done.

She wasn't sure exactly how it was that Noah was back in uniform and still facing charges, but she was not. Maybe some of that arm-twisting had been done on her behalf. She suspected it had. It was nice to be in favor for once.

The Maquis seemed to have warmed to her since all this. B'Elanna had been noticeably nicer to her. She had only the vaguest memories of B'Elanna and Seven dragging her out of the Jefferies tube, but now the half-Klingon seemed to think the entire thing was hysterically funny. Klingons had weird senses of humor. One of the upshots of all this mess had been that the charges against the Maquis had been quietly and unceremoniously dropped as 'not in the best interests of Starfleet.'

Noah had asked her before if she felt sour about that; the Maquis had gotten off scott-free because she'd been put through hell. The answer was simple: no. She knew what they'd risked for her, and none of them deserved to go to prison. If this was going to be different – if the _Equinox _crew was really going to be accepted into the fold instead of being outcasts – that had to come from both sides. The _Equinox _five would have to be willing to let the grudges of the past stay in the past just as the _Voyager _crew would. When you came down to it, Janeway was absolutely _babying _them. She'd made Tom Paris fly them down in a shuttle, in case Section 31 was monitoring transporter patterns.

She and Noah and Seven had been researching something last night. Marla glanced over at the forbidding walls of the prison and thought. She'd spent a few months in there, along with the Maquis. Now, Kilbourne and Ransom were being held there. Maybe this trial would actually happen. But there was just one thing she had wanted to do for herself.

His voice dropped a little. "You sure you want to do this?"

She paused, considered, and nodded.

The guard at the Annex did a double-take when he saw them. "You guys forget something?" But the Starfleet uniforms entitled them to a certain amount of respect that prison uniforms had not. According to his rank pips, he was the equivalent of a crewman, and didn't want trouble from an ensign, who was an officer even if a low-ranking one.

She'd thought she might be frightened going back into the prison. The first time she'd been here she'd been just shy of tears, terrified as to what her future might hold. But there was no fear now. It was a place of misery, but not hers. She would leave this place as an ensign instead of an outcast. A second chance. It felt good. But first, there was something she had to do for her prior captain and for herself.

The guard escorted them through the halls down to maximum security. She'd never been here herself; she'd behaved herself during her incarceration. This was where they kept the dangerous ones.

Kilbourne's cell was at the end of the hall, but he wasn't her destination. This was something she had to do for the sake of the pastShe turned to Noah and cleared her throat.

"You can wait for me here," she said.

They'd known each other for far too long for rank to become a necessity. He simply gave her a look and shrugged.

"If that's what you want, Marla," he said softly.

"It is. It's nothing personal, Noah. I want to do this myself."

"Yes, ma'am," he said, smiling sadly.

Marla walked to the second to last cell and looked in at the man inside. He looked over at her, surprised. Sandy blonde hair, rough-hewn features. The very picture of the captain she had served so loyally for five years. Rudy Ransom.

Rudy Ransom was the alias he was booked in as; they didn't know his real name. Marla found something obscene in that. Rudy was _dead. _He had died honorably, and in his death he had allowed Marla and the other four to survive. He had done his penance and been cleansed, and he would not have wanted her to do the same. She knew that now that she had her mind back.

"Hello," she said.

"Hello, Marla," the man said, and smiled. "What are you here for? Closure?"

Marla pulled herself to attention and eyed him. He seemed small and deflated now. He wore the baggy blue prison uniform. There was nothing of her flawed but noble captain to him.

"I want you to give me something," she said. "And I want to give you something, too."

He chuckled. "I'm sure you understand. You were in this prison not too long ago yourself. I'm not giving you a confession."

"That's not what I want," Marla said sharply, and heard strength in her voice she hadn't heard for a very long time.

The fake Ransom seemed puzzled. "Then what do you want?"

"When you were booked in, you were wearing a Starfleet uniform you weren't entitled to," she told him. "I want your pips."

He blinked at her for a moment, clearly surprised. The harsh light revealed a man who was clearly under stress, reduced to this tiny cell, wondering about his future. She understood that.

"Pips?" He seemed incredulous. "You can get pips from any replicator you want."

"I want yours," Marla said. "You didn't earn them. I want them."

He chuckled and sat down on his thin bunk. "What right do you have to them? You're not a captain."

Marla shook her head. "No, I'm not," she agreed. "But I _am _the sole surviving officer of _USS Equinox. _And I want them in the name of my former captain, Rudolph Ransom."

The man waved a hand dismissively. "Symbolism," he said. "A little ritual, to put your captain to rest? Restore the honor of the dead? That's...droll."

Marla smiled, her eyes veiled. "You could say that," she agreed. "It's not droll to me, though."

The man in the cell seemed sardonic. "Fine," he said. "Take them. What did you have to give me?"

Marla let her smile become a bit more predatorial. "A name," she breathed. "No one knows what your real name is...or do they?"

The man frowned and seemed troubled.

"I read the notes you took on me, on _Grambyo," _Marla said. "You really knew your stuff. You had me down cold. You knew everything about me, and you had some pretty good insights into me, I'll give you that."

The man chuckled and ran a hand through his hair. The same haircut as Rudy's. The same features. The man had been duplicated as assiduously as the ship.

"But those notes told _me _something about _you_," Marla went on. "You're not Rudy. He was an exobiologist. And he was a pretty good one, too. You, on the other hand...your training is in minds. Psychology or psychiatry. According to the doctor, he said there's no question you knew your way around drugs and had medical training. You've been to medical school somewhere. You're not an exobiologist. You're a psychiatrist, aren't you?"

"I'm not answering that," the man said. He wasn't Rudy any more to her; his power had been broken. He was watching her intently, clearly looking for something. Marla was going to give it to him.

"You're not just a psychiatrist. You're a _good _one, really good. The EMH said you had to be very good. So then, the question becomes this." She smiled at him again, feeling the balance of power tilt towards her.

"If you're a psychiatrist, how come you're working for Section 31? How come you're not working in a mental hospital or something, helping people? You're good at it, so there's got to be a good reason why you're doing this instead of what you were trained to do."

The man chuckled. "Interesting theory. I suppose this is the part where you thrill me with your keen analysis."

"There's a system about twenty light-years from Earth," she recited, ignoring the barb, "with a planet called Baltos IV. It's a colony of about a million people now. It had a mental hospital there, that serves that planet and the other colonies around it. One on Baltos II, one on Baltos V. It's called the Chespik Psychiatric Hospital. Ever heard of it?"

The man in the cell tensed.

"About twenty, twenty-five years ago, the chief resident psychiatrist at Chespik was caught doing unethical experiments," she said, and her smile turned cool. "He was trying to do nanosurgery on the patients. Messing with their brains. Many died. Others were permanently damaged. He had a couple of helpers. One was a lower-ranking psychiatrist, a man of Russian descent named Vladimir Chiltov. Another was an orderly named Samuel Miggs. The chief resident's name was Chretel. Dr. Henry Chretel."

"I suppose that's true," the man said, but his voice was tense.

"It is. I can show you the indictments. Those three were arrested, and were going to go on trial. Then, all of a sudden, they just...disappeared. Gone. Poof." She made a flicking gesture with her hands, as if to accentuate the suddenness of their departure. "No one ever heard of them again. They've been wanted for twenty years."

The man looked at her from his small, beady Rudy Ransom eyes and sighed. Was it an act? She couldn't tell, but she had his interest, and that said a great deal. She went on, watching him carefully for any signs of reaction.

"The funny thing is, Samuel Miggs was a black fellow, and wouldn't you know it, his skin tone is just a few shades darker than Noah's. And they've got similar heights and builds. For a funnier thing, Vladimir Chiltov had a pretty strong resemblance to Max Burke. And as for the good doctor...well, wouldn't you know it, Dr. Henry Chretel is about the same age, height, weight, and coloration as Rudy was. Why, if you had the one set of men and a skilled surgeon...nobody could tell the difference with a little plastic surgery. In fact, _I _couldn't tell the difference, and I knew those men for years."

The man smiled, sensing a chink in her armor. "Oh, don't take that so hard," he said. His tone was gentle, but above his eyes were ice chips. "You were heavily medicated from the moment you came on the ship. The stuff we used on you later is what made you feel sick and dizzy, but there wasn't a moment on that ship you weren't under the influence of something. Of course you were fooled. We're professionals, you know."

She stopped and gathered herself. The reminder of her helplessness was unpleasant. And couching it as a sympathetic gesture didn't prevent it from stinging. All the same, she held her head high, not letting him have an inch.

"You're Henry Chretel, aren't you?" she asked.

He shook his head slowly, indicating that he would not tell, not that she was wrong. If he thought she was aiming for a confession, he was mistaken. She knew her former captors better than that; he wouldn't blurt out anything in a prison, where his every word was monitored.

"Nice story, Marla," he said. "You know, you shouldn't take this personally. It wasn't. Just a job. I liked you, actually."

She raised an eyebrow at him in unconscious imitation of Seven. "Then I'm curious to see what you do to people you _don't _like," she said. "Ultimately, it doesn't matter what you say to me, or what I say to you. I know you're not going to tell me. But just so you know...the Baltan authorities are en route. They'll be here tomorrow. If you aren't Dr. Chretel, you don't have anything to worry about. If you are...well, then it might be time to think about a deal."

He didn't react, but she could see his eyes widen for just a second. Her smile became cool.

Now he could be the one with the weight on his mind.

"I told the truth and owned up to what I did on _Equinox_. It wasn't easy and it cost me a lot. But I don't think I'd be here today, in this uniform, if I hadn't done it. I've been in your shoes, Dr. Chretel. If I were you, I'd consider owning up to what you've done. There might be some skeletons in your closet about to come out." She flicked her head at the next cell, knowing Kilbourne was in it and listening. It didn't matter to her. If Kilbourne could have obtained his freedom so easily, he would have already done so.

The fake Ransom was pondering something. She decided to let him have his silence and his thoughts; he'd be in there for a very long time with them. His parting gift was a sweet smile.

"Shall I just see the guard for your pips?" she asked sweetly, sounding deliberately like a passenger liner stewardess.

He nodded slowly, his eyes focused on the past.

Marla turned to her right and eyed Kilbourne for just a moment. He was not hiding his reaction; his eyes blazed at her in helpless anger. He might have been able to do a great deal once, but he could not stop her from planting the seed. She eyed him for just a moment. Such a plain-looking little man! The dark purposes were not visible to the naked eye. No wonder he'd gotten away with so much for so long.

She held his gaze for a few moments, then turned on her heel and strode away without a word.

At the picket, the guard passed her an envelope; apparently he had been monitoring her conversation. That didn't bother her. She opened it, saw the four pips, and smiled, murmuring a quick thank you and continuing on her way.

Noah fell into step with her as she left. He watched her for a few moments before speaking, his eyes studying her face, then back down to the envelope, then back up to her face. His mien was thoughtful.

"Did you get what you wanted?" he asked.

Marla shrugged. "I guess," she said. "He's Chretel. He looked scared when I mentioned it. I just wanted him to know that we found him out."

"Yeah," he said. "That was some good work. It'll give them a hook to hang him on."

"I hope so," Marla said. "Seven helped. I guess if you spend twenty years hooked into a computer by the eyeballs, you're good at searching databases."

"Let me ask you something," Noah said thoughtfully. "You really think there's a place for us on _Voyager? _A place that isn't bottom of the barrel, scumbag-prisoner, sort of deal?"

Marla shrugged and smiled softly. "I don't know," she said. "I'd like to see. What's the worst that'll happen?"

It wasn't far back to the shuttleport. Tom Paris was waiting outside the shuttle, standing outside and enjoying the sun on his face. He turned to see them and nodded politely.

"Hey, guys," he said matter-of-factly. "How did it go?"

"It went all right," Marla said.

"Good." He opened the shuttle doors. "For the life of me, I will _never _understand why you wanted to go _back _to a prison."

He'd been relatively nice to them during their outcast years on _Voyager, _Marla remembered. Now he seemed to have a quiet sort of pride, seeing them coming along the same path he had taken. Noah liked him in a grudging sort of way. Janeway's rehabilitated problem-children brigade. There were worse groups to be a part of.

"Let's get back to the ship," Tom suggested. "The brass will shoot me if we lose a shuttle on _Earth._"

Marla smiled tiredly, remembering _Voyager's _profligacy with shuttles. "You _are _the brass, Lieutenant. You're fourth in command of the ship."

"You're not far off yourself, Ensign," he reminded her. "Maybe now that we're in the Alpha Quadrant, you could actually get promoted." He turned in his seat, his educated hands still preflighting the shuttle. "You too, Noah. Now that all this bull is over and done with...there's officer material in you. There's a reason Ransom picked you."

Promotion. The idea seemed so far away; she'd spent so long convinced she would never get home, then on _Voyager _she had been a permanent crewman. She might be able to be a Chief Engineer on her own ship someday.

"We'll see," Noah said.

Tom shrugged. "Take the test. It could happen. All up to you."

The shuttle rose into the air, and it was only a few minutes' trip from the surface to where _Voyager _waited overhead. The idea of taking a shuttle seemed silly to her, but she understood why Janeway was being a little paranoid.

The ship itself was busy, even in dock. There was always plenty to do, and Janeway kept the crew busy even if there wasn't. The shuttle bay officer greeted them.

"Ensign Gilmore, Crewman Lessing. You need to see Commander Tuvok in Security."

That made her tremble a bit; Tuvok had always been harder on them than other officers. At their security reviews, every three months, he had constantly recommended that they not receive any more privileges or access to the ship's systems. It had taken a year before Captain Janeway had finally decided not to side with him. He'd always sworn that there had been no personal animus, but it was hard to believe that sometimes.

All the same, she would go. What could he say? He didn't have to like her. God knew they'd had plenty to say about him in the privacy of their own quarters.

At the security office, Tuvok observed them emotionlessly and handed each a PADD.

"I have added you to the roster and assigned you quarters," he said. His tone betrayed no emotion; neither anger nor welcome. "You must sign here to receive appropriate security clearances. Ensign Gilmore will be in Engineering. Crewman Lessing, you will be assigned to Astrometrics."

Well, if he could be businesslike, so could she. "Of course, sir," she acknowledged, and scribbled her signature on the PADD. Tuvok simply nodded. His face was implacable; she couldn't tell what he was thinking.

"I am also curious as to how the false Captain Ransom responded to your deduction," he said. "Did he admit to being Dr. Chretel?"

Marla thought. "He didn't admit to it, no," she said. "But I think he is. He started getting nervous when I mentioned it."

Tuvok considered and nodded for a moment. "Then your assessment is probably correct," he said. "Please report to your quarters and then to your posts. Your department heads will wish to work you into the schedule while we are here on Earth."

"Yes, sir," Marla said, and left quietly. The moment they were out of the security office, she chuckled.

"He don't like us very much, do he?" Noah said.

"He's a Vulcan. They all act that way. Besides, he's security. It's his job to be paranoid. Just give it a chance, will you, Noah?"

He chuckled. "Is that an order, oh grand high commissioned officer?"

She had to laugh. "Just a suggestion. Who have they got you rooming with?"

He checked. "Jim. Good. I can deal with that. How about you?"

She looked at her own PADD. "Nobody. I got my own room on deck 9. Junior officer's quarters."

"Lah-di-dah," Noah said.

"You ought to take the test, Noah. You could score a commission. You did officer's work on _Equinox." _

He sighed. "Fat lot of good it did me." Then he smiled sheepishly. "I know I'm skeptical. I've had to learn to be. Maybe this is different. We'll have to see."

Her quarters were a deck above his. The suite seemed absurdly huge; she'd been used to a bunk in a room that had two other roommates, neither of whom had particularly liked her. This was almost as big as guest quarters. Her own replicator and bathroom. Compared to where she'd lived recently, it was a palace. When she'd been in guest quarters, Captain Janeway had allowed her to replicate some things to replace those that Section 31 had stolen. That had all been moved to this room. There was a note informing her shortly that she was to replicate duty uniforms, one dress uniform, and sleepwear. Now, she rated the usual amount of replicator credits issued to any ensign.

Putting away her stuff and ordering up new uniforms and other necessities didn't take long. For a long moment she thought about what she wanted, and whether or not they would understand. She drummed her fingers against the desk for a moment. What the hell.

The replicator informed her that her order would be ready in an hour. There would be enough time to check in with B'Elanna Torres. That could go either way. At first, Torres had been pretty hard on her, not trusting an inch. Later, she'd eased off a bit. Now, she seemed friendlier. Still, what if the chief engineer was not happy that she'd been given officer's rank again? When Torres was not happy with an engineer, she tended to show it.

Still, she had the orders in black and white, so she went down to Engineering to report in. Torres was busy shouting orders at people, which wasn't anything new. When she saw Marla, she beckoned her over.

"In my office, Gilmore," she said in a businesslike tone.

_Uh-oh. _

Her hands were trembling as she waited. The few minutes seemed like hours. She tried not to fidget as the chief engineer came in and closed the door.

_She closed the door. That's probably not good. She's not happy with this situation. _

"All right," B'Elanna Torres said. "Have a seat." She took her own seat behind the desk. Marla swallowed.

"Captain Janeway says you're back to being an ensign now," Torres said. "Did you ever have command of other people on _Equinox?" _

Marla paused for a long moment to gather her courage. "Yes, ma'am," she said unsteadily. "Well, sort of. I was the only trained engineer, but I had to train some people until they...well, until they died."

Torres nodded. "How long did you have command?" she asked.

Marla shrugged. What was the other woman's point? "About five years," she said.

"Good." Torres scribbled something on a PADD. "What I want to do is this. We've had Engineering divided up into two teams. We always end up stealing people for other things anyway, so I want to make it official and have three teams. I'm putting you in charge of the third team. You'd start out on Alpha shift. Then, once we've seen you in command, we can talk about moving to another shift as needed.."

Marla blinked. Command? Commanding these people? Her? The idea seemed preposterous.

"Me?" she squeaked.

"You," Torres said. "You did pretty well on _Grambyo. _You've had command experience, you're a good engineer, and you've forgotten more about crisis engineering than some of these guys have ever learned.. So yes. You."

She knew she ought to be grateful, and she was. Being called a 'good engineer' by B'Elanna Torres usually required engineering feats that could put Zefram Cochrane to shame. Still, the thought came tumbling out of her mouth before her brain had a chance to suggest it might not be diplomatic. "Did Captain Janeway make you do this?"

Torres looked up, and her mouth quirked. Marla quailed. All the same, she could see a sort of respect in the Klingon's eyes: Torres approved of bringing things out in the open. She certainly never held too much back.

"Fair question," she said. "The answer is no. My personnel decisions are my own. And you may have noticed...I don't exactly worship at the altar of The Big Starfleet Rule Book. I promote who I see fit. Captain Janeway approved it, but you're there because I want to put you there."

Marla grinned nervously. "I'm sorry," she said. "I just...well, you know...,"

Torres chuckled. "I do know. Better to say it and get it over with. Starfleeters would be better off if they did it more often, if you ask me. Yeah, right now you're in the captain's good graces. I've been in her good graces, and I've been on the top of her shit list. All I'm giving you is a chance, Gilmore. You'll either rise to the task or you won't. That part is up to you."

Marla looked down and felt stupid. Great way to get along with her supervisor. "I'm sorry. Thank you. I'll do my best."

"All I ask," B'Elanna said archly. "Besides, some of our people are leaving. There will be other new engineers here, and I hate breaking in newbies. You start tomorrow." She checked her chronometer. "That's all. Dismissed. I have to check my kid's diaper. Enjoy the rest of the day while you've got it."

There were still a few muttered curses and dirty looks behind her as she went back to her cabin, but it didn't spoil her mood. She wouldn't let it. There would always be people who didn't like her. She could cope with that. Being allowed back into the fold was definitely enough.

She sat at her desk and checked her replicator order. Not yet. It was pretty backed up, although her one order was going to take some time anyway. To pass the time, she wrote a letter to her sister, informing her of everything that had happened, and finished by suggesting that _Voyager _was going to be on Earth for a while, and perhaps they could get together. Once her uniforms arrived, she put them away. The cabin looked stark and bare; she'd have to decorate it and make it look a little nicer.

For a moment she wondered if Angelo Tassoni would ever come back to Starfleet. After everything they'd been through, she could understand his desire to stay away. Two feet firmly on terra firma, and a place where he could truly start anew. It was a powerful draw. But this second chance was something she'd never expected, and she didn't want to give it up so easily. Such a chance might never come again.

The door chime buzzed. "Come in," she said, expecting Noah or Jim or possibly Brian. Instead, the figure of Captain Janeway stood in the doorway. Marla swallowed.

"As you were," Janeway said, and took a step inside. "Nicer than before."

"Yes," Marla said. "Captain...thank you."

The captain nodded and looked thoughtful. "You know, this isn't going to be all fun and games. Starfleet is planning to try Kilbourne and the others for piracy of a starship. It won't be easy."

Marla shrugged. "I've been through worse," she said.

"Did Ransom say anything?"

She had a feeling that she was going to be asked that question a lot. She shook her head. "Not a word, but I think it's him. We'll see."

Janeway paused to think. "You know," she said, "perhaps you're not the one I should be telling...but this _is _a legitimate chance."

Marla pursed her lips. "Noah," she said simply.

"Yes. He doesn't trust me, and I suppose it's only understandable that he's skeptical."

How could she defend him without alienating the captain? The reflex to immediately defend another one of the _Equinox _Five was strong; they'd been through a lot.

"Noah's been through a lot," she said.

"I know. I was responsible for part of it." She sighed, and for a moment Marla could see a flash of the person behind the pips: not the shields-up, no-weaknesses captain of _Voyager _but the person behind that uniform, occasionally fallible, occasionally hurt.

"Mr. Lessing has to find his own path," the captain continued after a moment. "He reminds me of Tom Paris. When the time was right, he set aside his differences and came here. There's a good officer in him waiting to come out. I can see that officer. I can open the door for him. I can call him to duty. But ultimately, I'm not the one who decides if he heeds the call." Her eyes fell to Marla's and she sighed. "Tom heeded the call. B'Elanna did. Chakotay did. And so did you," she finished, a smile playing about her lips.

Marla flushed, not sure how to take the compliment. "I, uh, well, I...," she stammered. "All I did was...," she trailed off.

"You held out. That's no small thing. Many people wouldn't have." The captain smiled maternally. "Just help me out a little with Lessing, will you?"

"He'll come around, captain. He just needs a little time."

Janeway turned her palms up. "For now, we have some time." Her combadge twittered: Chakotay asked for her on the bridge. She chuckled.

"Duty calls, ensign. I'm glad to have you aboard." With that, she turned to tend to her ship.

Marla Gilmore stared and watched her go for a few moments. What lay ahead she didn't know; as both the captain and Torres had said, all she had been given was a chance. She would make the most of it.

A soft beep told her that her replicator order was ready. She turned to take out duty uniforms, one dress uniform, and the custom orders she had entered. She was glad no one else had seen; they wouldn't understand. One was a small piece of gray cloth, much the same as her uniform collar. She took that out and pinned the four pips to it.

The others were old-style flat photographs from Starfleet's Records Bureau. The first was a picture of several people clustered around the bridge of a starship. Printed below the group was a short phrase: _OFFICERS OF USS EQUINOX, NCC-72381. _There she was, over on the left. Rudy in the center, seated in his command chair. Max beside him. Bill Yates, Dorothy Chang, John Bowler, Ed Regis and all the others. All of them were dead now, except for her.

The next was a picture of the Engineering staff, back when there had _been _an Engineering staff. All of them gone now, too.

The last was a picture of Rudy himself, poor desperate Rudy, who had been forced to be a law unto himself. He hadn't been an evil man; just a man in an intolerable situation who would have gladly died if it would have protected his crew. Ultimately, that was what he had done.

The Federation would consider them monsters and shameful failures. Someone had to tell their story. Someone had to realize that the crew of the _USS Equinox _had been in a truly desperate situation. There were others, far closer to home, who had repeated their crimes under far less trying circumstances. She would honor the people with whom she had served, quietly and in her own way. They had given their lives so that the five of them could get home, and that sacrifice would not be in vain.

But if _Equinox _was her past, _Voyager _was her present and future. Would Section 31 come back for her someday? Would Kilbourne slip the noose again and plan to ensnare her? She didn't know, and she couldn't spend her life curled up in a ball waiting for it to happen. But she had a place here, and she would do her best to keep it.

"Well, it took a while, but you got what you wanted, Rudy. We're home."

Home. For so long, that had been their only driving factor: to get home. They'd forgotten some things along the way. But home wasn't just the Alpha Quadrant; home was Starfleet, and all it meant and stood for. She'd been on this ship for two years, but it hadn't felt like home; it had felt like a prison. Could a prison become a home? She meant to find out.

She was stained by her past, but so was the Federation she had returned to. The murders aboard the _Equinox, _the genocide that Section 31 had committed against the Dominion. _Voyager's _captain and crew had stopped a third, even worse genocide against the Romulans.

The ding of the replicator interrupted her reverie. It delivered a rectangular piece of plastic. She reached in and took it curiously, smiling despite herself at the words printed across it. Just a plain old door plaque for her door. There was one on every crew-quarters door on the ship. Harry had probably sent it down. Was he screwing up his courage to ask her to Sandrine's again? Maybe. Only time would tell.

For now, the letters embossed in the plastic were a pleasant reward.

_Ensign Marla Gilmore _

_Engineering/ Team Leader Team Three _

_USS Voyager NCC-74656 _

She hung the sign on her door and took a moment to look at it. Finally, after a long struggle, she knew where she was.

Home.

Finally, she was home.

_FIN _


End file.
